Since it’s going around …

Your Birthdate: November 20

Your birth on the 20th day of the month adds a degree of emotion, sensitivity, and intuition to your reading. The 2 energy provided here is very social, allowing you to make friends easily and quickly. Yet you are apt to have a rather nervous air in the company of a large group. You have a warmhearted nature and emotional understanding that constantly seeks affection. You are very prone to become depressed and moody, as emotions can turn inward and cause anxiety and mental turmoil. It can be hard for you to bounce back to reality when depression sets in. When things are going well, you can go just as far the other way and become extremely affectionate.

Hmm… these could be true about anyone.

The Tokyo Dinner Conclusion

It was now Thursday in Japan, and I woke up with a clear head and ready stomach. First things first, I checked my email for a response from Kamiguchi, and my Inbox was empty. Of course, I thought in a smug voice, What would the CEO of IBM need with 70 bucks?. I felt lucky, and guessed that he would write me back sometime during the day. Victorious and confident, I assumed the letter would read something like this:

Dear Heather,

Don’t worry about the bill from last night’s meal. It was my treat, and we were all delighted to help you get home safely. Thank you for entertaining my party with your terrible but charming Japanese.

Sincerely,
Sachio Kamiguchi
CEO of IBM
Lord of All Yen and Banks

I skipped off into the lobby for breakfast and read the paper in the dusty light of Tokyo morning. I skimmed a manga, chatted with my hosts for a couple hours, then spent fourty-five more minutes on the rooftop, cashing in on the cool breeze. I was sailing.

When I came back to my room after my shower, there was an email waiting for me from an unknown Hotmail account – something like pob187458. It had bypassed all my virus and spam guards, so I figured it must be from a Boom employee or a friend from back home.

Was I ever surprised when I opened it up and read:

Dear Heather,

From now on do not email me at work. Do not call me at work. Here is my cellphone number. Use this hotmail address for further correspondence.

Which hotel are you staying at? I will come there for payment.

Sachio

I stared at the email for 10 minutes, dumbfounded, before I started to feel nauseous. The thought occurred to me again, this time in a voice far less smug, What would the CEO of IBM need with 70 bucks? .

He wanted my hotel address. Don’t use his work email. Oh god, oh Christ. He clearly wanted some other form of payment.

My day had been ruined.

Sitting alone in my room, with what must have been the gaunt look of true horror, I responded:

Kamiguchi-san,

Thank you so much for your response! Don’t worry about coming to my hotel; I know my way around Tokyo and can find my way to your company without getting lost. I can drop off an envelope for you later today, but this evening I am busy … I have plans with friends. Thank you again!

His response was nearly immediate.

Heather,

Since I have a meeting, we’ll meet at the ANA hotel in Roppongi at 7pm. I look forward to seeing you.

Sachio

What!?! The ANA Hotel!? 7pm!? Did he not understand the idea of an Envelope? Clearly, I meant paying him back with money.

My head swimming, I considered my options. One, of course, was to ignore the email and never show up to anything, ever, and spend the rest of my vacation sweating ice in my hotel room. Although an attractive idea, it would go against my principles. Kamiguchi had technically not done anything wrong, and perhaps I was simply misinterpreting his letters. He had paid for my dinner, after all, and loaned me his subordinates when I went searching for an ATM. Maybe the money was a cultural thing; maybe if someone asked to pay you back in Japan, you were expected to take the money regardless of your own personal wealth. A form of etiquette.

Of course, it looked like he wanted a date. Or at least drinks. Could I trust the CEO of IBM?

There was also the option that Kamiguchi and IBM were the yakuza, and that the five star ANA hotel was a front for a massive porn operation, funded with money from tech stocks. Nearly hallucinating, I figured the operation must be ignored by the police in return for free copies of the DVDs. Of course! No wonder the crime rate in Japan is so low! The crimes are never reported!

Get a hold of yourself. There is a sensible option. Don’t go alone.

There were only two people I knew in Tokyo. One was Reiko, who lived in Yokohama, fifty minutes to the south. It would be a terrible imposition to ask her to travel all the way to Roppongi just because I had an overactive imagination.

The other person I knew was C-J, the girl I had met in a bar earlier that week. Though the date was a wash, C-J wasn’t a bad person. So, it seemed like I was going to rely on one near-stranger to play defense against another.

I called C-J and asked her, “If you come with me to drop off an envelope at a hotel tonight, I’ll treat you to any dinner date you want in this whole city.”

CJ agreed, and said she’d meet me at the Shinjuku Station at 6pm. I looked at the clock. It was 1:00.

Five hours left to sweat.

I threw on some clothes and headed over to 7-11 to get an envelope. I remembered reading somewhere that you were never supposed to hand money over without an envelope, and the large selection of fancy envelopes at the convenience store seemed to confirm this. I picked out the most elegant among them; white on black, with a silver ribbon, and went to the ATM.

I filled the envelope, dropped it in my purse, and checked the clock.

It was 1:15.

Ugh.

I wrote back Kamiguchi - I’d be by the hotel at 7 with his money, and that I might have to pick up a friend first because we were meeting up with some more people at 7:30. I downloaded a map to the ANA hotel, and checked the local area for … well, anything. The clock read 1:30.

I was going crazy. Must do something. I didn’t want to sacrifice an entire day to worrying about some stupid envelope drop-off at a hotel with the most powerful man I’d ever met while relying the lesbian who didn’t like Japan.

I bit my lip and decided to visit the Imperial Gardens. It would take up some time, and it was in-between Roppongi and Shinkjuku. Before I left, I copied down Kamiguchi’s info and then left the business card in my hotel room with a note:

If I don’t come back, this is the guy who killed me and then bought off the police.

I took a train across the city, and walked through the central park with the lethargic steps of a death-row inmate. Wow, I thought glumly, look how pretty. Oh, great, here’s a nice picture. Yippee.

I shot some stills and then sat down on a ledge overlooking the areas reserved for the royal family. It was 3:00.

I couldn’t even tell you how I wasted the next few hours. I think I might have ordered lunch somewhere, and then let it sit at my table. I may have taken the train back to my hotel and laid down to stare at the ceiling. Maybe I just went to Shinjuku and played video games while waiting for C-J to meet me. Regardless of how I went through the afternoon, time did eventually creep by until the clock at the station was marked with the vertical slice of six.

I looked around for C-J. Nothing.

6:10.

6:15. Still no C-J.

Oh my god, what was happening? Was I going to have to go alone!? Had she stood me up? What the hell was happening?

The nearest public phone was a good 10 minute walk away. I had to risk it; maybe she was somewhere else in the station (unlikely) or just didn’t realize how desperate the situation was (probable). I jogged out to the phone and called her cell, furiously left a message, then dashed back to the meeting point and waited some more. Roppongi was on the opposite side of the city from Shinjuku. I needed at least 20 minutes to get there.

It was 6:30. I would wait till 6:45, and then call both C-J and Kamiguchi. Please, please, C-J, don’t make me do this alone.

At 6:45, with still no sign of the girl, I ran back to the phone to place my last two phone calls. If C-J didn’t pick up, I didn’t have enough change to call her back again. I called C-J …

… and left another message.

Then I called Kamiguchi. His now-sickening perfect English slid out of the phone and all over my ear. Or at least, that’s how it felt.

He laughed when I told him I’d be a little late, and repeated, “I can’t wait to see you.”

Defeated, nervous, and now grossed-out, I walked back into the train station and headed through the turnstile.

And that’s when C-J tapped me on the back.

“Hey! Sorry I’m late,” was all she offered. I didn’t care. I was so overjoyed, I gave her a huge hug before grabbing her hand and pulling her into the train.

I explained everything on the way, and with a furrowed brow she asked, “Why don’t you just ignore it and keep the money?”

That wasn’t the point, I explained. So far, everything that had happened was subject to interpretation. The only fact was Kamiguchi had saved my ass the night before, and now I had to pay him back. If he didn’t want the money, fine, I’d leave with it. But I had to offer it to him; I had to do the Right Thing, regardless of the strange circumstances surrounding the drop-off.

I had covered all my bases. If he offered to take us out for a drink, C-J would say that we had to head back to Shinjuku to meet more friends. If he wanted to give me correct change, (I had provided 80 bucks for the 70 he had forwarded, again, out of principle), I would refuse and say that it was a small gratitude for his great generosity. I wasn’t going alone, and had another remaining card up my sleeve: I may look like a stupid college girl, but I’m an improviser. I could probably handle any social situation he threw at us, and escape.

Finally, we arrived at the ANA Roppongi. With carefully chosen steps, I walked into the lobby with C-J in tow. There, sitting in a Red Velvet Chair that seemed to have been brought in by his personal prop department, was Kamiguchi. He smiled, and stood to meet us.

It went exactly as I thought it would.

First, he was happy to see me, and then disappointed when he realized I had a friend.

I pulled out the envelope, and offered it to him with a bow.

Kamiguchi stared at the envelope in open disgust. Ha, I thought. Gotcha.

Sachio asked, “What is this?”

I replied, “It’s the money, for the dinner last night.”

He paused. “In the envelope?”

“Yes.”

Kamiguchi’s eyes narrowed, and gingerly, almost apprehensively, he took the envelope and stuffed it in his breast pocket. Then he asked how much was inside.

I replied, 8000 yen, for his trouble. He offered to give me change, and I refused.

Cue C-J: “Sorry, we have to go if we’re going to meet up with our friends. We’re already late.”

I thanked him again, and we scurried out, leaving his disappointed face behind us. Together, C-J and I ran to the sidewalk and around the building, before bursting into the laughter of relief. The debt was repaid, and whatever plans Kamiguchi had, we had thwarted. Though, strangely I felt a little guilty, there were more than enough peculiarities to the whole event to justify my suspicion.

I owed C-J a meal, and she wanted duck. We went to a Chinese restaurant called Eight and dinner was either really incredible, or my relief was so potent that it popped the flavor of every dish. After the meal, we wandered around Roppongi, still giddy, and ended up at an art museum overlooking the city.

When I got back to my hotel that night, there was an email waiting from pob1759235.

It read,

Dear Heather,

Thank you for the repayment.

I thought I should explain to you. My daughter went to college in America and had a lot of troubles there. Thankfully, so many people helped her that she was never in danger. When I saw you at the resturaunt last night, I thought of my daughter and wanted to help. I hope you have fun in Tokyo, and next time perhaps we can get a coffee.

Also, you should know that the envelope you gave me was for funerals only.

Sachio

In my room, my emotions bubbled up in a mix of sadness, delight, shame and skepticism. I laughed so hard that I must have woken up all the other guests in the hotel.

Tokyo Akihabara Dinner

It was Wednesday night and I was hungry. All I’d eaten that day was French Toast and a slice of cake, so I dug out my guide book and looked up Akiba-area eateries. It seemed that all the restaurants were clustered together in the south, towards the Imperial Palace, so I picked out a cheap place and headed in that direction. Though I had a destination, I figured if I found someplace inviting along the way, I’d eat there instead.

Taking a turn down a small, dim and narrow street, I stumbled a upon an amazing Edo-era house. The rice-paper walls were lit softly from within, and the building gave off an aura of authenticity. The smoke pouring out of the chimney filled the whole alley with the smell of burnt soy sauce.

To the best of my knowledge, the kanji on the door said something about eating, so I headed inside. A chance at something surprising was more interesting to me than anything pre-described in a tourist book.

When I entered, I immediately got the impression that very few gaijin had ever set foot inside the place. A woman in a yukata stared at me with such surprise that you’d think I had walked in wearing only a diaper.

Politely and in Japanese, I asked, “Is this a restaurant?”

The Yukata-woman’s mouth remained agape, so the young man beside her said, “Yes.”

Cautiously I said, “Hitatsu,” and confirmed that I was a party of one.

Another woman arrived, in a kimono, and rushed to get me out of my shoes. She gestured to the hallway, and whisked to my own private room in the back. I sat down on my knees behind a table that was more like a six-inch bench, and waited.

Finally, a third woman entered my room and asked, “How did you find this place?”

I didn’t have enough vocabulary to answer properly, so I did my best to convey the idea of wandering past. She nodded with wide eyes, and seemed in a state complete disbelief. I asked if they had an English menu, and she said they didn’t have any menus. There was Only One Item to Eat.

Now I was nervous. Remembering that I only had 4000 Yen on me (~50 Euro), I asked if they took Credit, and the kimono-woman said, “No,” but she then indicated that there was an ATM across the street; after dinner, I could just head over and withdraw what I needed.

Though I didn’t like the plan, Kimono-Woman was now warming up to me, and was very disappointed when I said, “Maybe I’ll go somewhere else.” She shook her head and fired off rapidly — No, no, no, no, it would be fine, it wasn’t a problem, it’s not that expensive, how much money did I have on me, it would be ok, ATM After, ATM After.

With a shrug, I said, “’I guess I’ll order your dinner, then.”

With a smile, she rushed out of my room, and I was alone for ten minutes.

Finally she reentered and asked, “Tamago ga sukidesuka?” (Do you like Egg?)

I replied, “Hai hai!”

She handed me an egg and a bowl, and gestured vaguely. I broke the egg open; it was raw, and poured it into the bowl. Then I put the bowl in the center of my six-inch-bench.

Kimono exited.

Blinking, I stared at my bowl of raw egg and wondered if this was The Only Item To Eat. Before long, Kimono returned with a metal basket of hot charcoals, an iron dish atop it. She filled the dish with some sort of dark, sour smelling liquid, and it began to boil. Then she left.

Egg in the dish? What was I supposed to do with the Egg!? When I was sure no one was going to come back, I gently brought my bowl of raw egg towards the pot of boiling brown, when suddenly Kimono returned and admonished me with a flurry of “Ieieieie! Ieie! Ieieie!”

She took my egg-bowl away from me, placed it back on my table, handed me chopsticks and took off again.

With no one else in my room to watch, I was at a loss as to what I was supposed to do. Certainly I couldn’t eat the raw egg with chopsticks.

Could I?

Finally, Kimono entered again, and brought with her a gigantic plate of raw chicken and vegetables. She unloaded it into the boiling pot, stirred it about, and then told me when it was done cooking, I should eat it. I asked her what to do with the bowl of egg. She answered with something I didn’t understand at all.

But when my chicken was done cooking, she grabbed my raw-egg-bowl, took a piece of chicken from the pot, dipped it in the egg, and held it in the air as the egg cooked on the chicken.

Oh thank god, I thought. I don’t have to eat raw egg.

Kimono left, and for a few moments I enjoyed my dinner even as I worried about the ATM across the street taking an international Visa card. Five minutes later, things got really strange.

Happily munching on my Chicken-Egg-Vegetable dish (which was extraordinary), I looked up as the most expensive looking Japanese man I had ever seen walked into my room. His hair was silver like the rim of euro coins, and his suit was so black it seemed sewn from coal.

In perfect English, he said, “So … I hear you have a problem with money.”

I nearly gagged on my chicken.

Gingerly, I replied, “Umm .. not really. I just need to go to the ATM after dinner; I didn’t have enough cash on me”

The Silver Man laughed — this would be the way he ended every exchange; with laughter. Casually, he stroked his blood-red tie and said, “How did you find this place?”

Now I was scared. My own room, no other patrons, and then this smiling, charming Japanese villain. Was this a Yakuza restaurant?

I explained that I wandered past, and since it smelled great I came in.

Silver Man laughed, and asked, “Are you here alone?”

“No, no … I’m here tonight by myself, but I’m visiting friends in Tokyo. I’m meeting up with them after dinner, because they’re working late.”

More laughter. At least he was happy. He continued, “Only Japanese come here. You’re very lucky. After dinner, I’ll escort you to the ATM.” He chuckled, meaning that this exchange was over.

Still, I protested, “It’s not a problem … I’m just gonna run across the street; I’ll leave my camera or something.”

“No, no, it’s fine. I … or one of my subordinates,” he actually said subordinates, “will bring you to the ATM. Enjoy your dinner.”

He laughed and added as he exited, “Wandered past!”

I wasn’t hungry any more.

Kimono poked her head in and said, “He’ll bring you to the ATM. Eat eat eat eat!”

Dizzy and nervous, I attempted to finish my meal when another man tiptoed into my room. Obviously the aforementioned subordinate, he introduced himself as Akira and didn’t speak a word of English. Akira bowed a lot and stammered out, “I’ll be escorting you to the ATM.”

He then promptly knelt beside me and waited.

After a long silence, he asked, “How did you find this place?”

I set my chopsticks down and said, “You know what, I’m finished, yeah, I’m done. Let’s go now.”

As if listening in (maybe she was), Kimono burst into the room and said, “No no no no! Eat eat! Eat!” I declared that I was full to the point of having a stomach and head-ache, and Kimono let me leave.

The entire staff of the restaurant was at the front door, with my shoes. I slipped them on, and Akira and I went outside after Kimono said that I needed 3000 more yen.

On my way to the convenience store, I asked Akira who he and Silver Man were, and he said something about a Group Party. So they didn’t work at the restaurant, but they could still be Yakuza. Finally, we arrived at the ATM. And …

Neither my Amsterdam ATM card nor my American Visa Card worked in the machine. Oh Jesus.

Akira got on his stylish cell-phone and asked for directions to another ATM. I pulled out my guide book and found one in Akihabara. All in all, Akira and I went to five different ATMs, none of which accepted international cards. Another subordinate joined us and we relayed to a sixth and final cash machine.

Result: a receipt saying, No International Cards Allowed.

At this point, I was on the edge of panic, but I knew that if worse came to worst, I could leave my camera, my ID and my hotel name with the restaurant and return with the 30 bucks the next day. It shouldn’t be a problem, I convinced myself. They’ll understand. Or the Yakuza would make me shoot porn to pay off my debt. Either way, at least I’d already eaten, so it wasn’t like they could take away my meal. Ha ha! Ah …. ha …. uh … Unless I threw it up. Oh Christ.

We walked back to the restaurant, and I took off my shoes and got ready to explain the situation to Kimono et al. Before I could, Akira rapid-fired with her, and the Silver Man came into the lobby with his party. Everyone stood behind him as he declared:

“We’ll cover her meal. It’s no problem.” And then he laughed.

I objected, declaring my plan to Kimono; I was only 2300 short, certainly they could hang on to my camera for a day, I promised I to return! But Silver Man smiled and gently brushed me aside to pay for my meal. I bowed a thousand times and begged to pay him back: How could I get in touch with him?

At this, he handed me his Business Card. It was crisp, white, and neat, and read:

Sachio Kamiguchi
President and Ceo
IBM Japan

Oh my god, I was being covered by the CEO of IBM!? Kamiguchi laughed again, and told me that I could email him at the address on the card and he’d tell me how I could pay him back.

My heart was racing in both fear and embarrassment, but I managed to force out another round of thank-you’s to everyone around, and then grabbed by shoes and took off towards the lights and familiarity of Akihabara again, clutching the business card in my pocket.

That night, in an Akiba Arcade, I lost 30 rounds to the most gifted Street Fighter III player I’ve ever come across. After that, I took a train home and immediately wrote an email to Kamiguchi, full of praise and gratitude.

To Be Continued …

and

I’ve now been in Holland for more than a week, and my gray-sky induced depression has returned. I used to think that people who were emotionally affected by the weather were just weak-minded, but having lived in a country with little-to-no-sun for two and a half years has me reconsidering.

***

So now it was Wednesday in Tokyo. I woke up, ate my breakfast with Mar and the rest, and headed up to the roof of the Ryokan to drink tea and listen to the city. I shot some pictures of my neighborhood from the perch, and the air was sweet with the smell of the ocean and dryer sheets.

I took the metro to Ueno, determined to see some nature for a change. After getting a little lost in the claustrophobic shopping streets near the station, I found my way to the park. There, I watched some sort of Shinto ceremony at the Toshogu Shrine, where a person in a mask danced slow and robotically to atonal flutes and offbeat drums. I didn’t take any pictures of this, as it seemed about as disrespectful as dropping in on the Vatican and shooting Communion.

The park was wide and elegant, with temples, canopies of green, and pools of lily pads. And though the park footprint wasn’t very big on the map, it was staggeringly large in person. I wandered around for hours, pausing only to peek over the shoulders of retired couples who were doing watercolor studies of the horizon.

I exited to go shopping under the Hibiya Line, still searching for my Backpack Of Dreams. Low and Behold, I discovered a three story shop called, “WORLD OF BAGS,” where they had exactly the satchel I was looking for. And nearby was a toy store with Josh’s Ideal Spiderman Costume! Finding something through wandering is more fulfilling than any Ebay search. I marked the stores on my map, to return to if I couldn’t find stuff cheaper.

Next, I decided to walk to Akihabara, since it was another beautiful day, and kept sight of the JR Line as I ambled across the city. Eventually I was off the tourist streets, and the sight of a lone Gaijin who spoke broken Japanese meant I got to taste a free sample from every restaurant along the way.

Finally, I hit Akihabara again. Oh-Thank-God. I could live in Akiba forever. More seven-story museum/wharehouse/flea markets of anime goods, more five foot Evangelion Robots, more Gachapon stations. I snuck down the back alleys looking for Cosplay stores, and when I ended up in Porn Shops, the owners would hand me a pre-printed map of where the stores had moved to. Seemed like it was a common mistake. I bought a Naruto headband and then ate lunch at Café Mai:Lish.

Café Mai:Lish is a Cosplay café. This means that the waitresses are in character as the day’s heroine, and dressed in the appropriate costume. This isn’t Hooters, mind you; these girls are fans of the shows, and make (or purchase) their costumes in celebration of their obsessions. Wednesday’s Theme was simply Maids In Anime. My Hyper-French-Maid-waitress handed me an all-Japanese menu, and I spent the next fifteen minutes slowly reading everything before I ordered.

I ordered Chocolate Cake and Coffee.

After my healthy lunch, I shopped some more and found a tiny upstairs store that had “Squall’s Sleeping Lionheart Ring” (The Square-Enix Official Version, not some Hong Kong Internet Rip-Off) in .925 silver for 40% off the standard price. I tried it on, and when it fit, I bought it without a moment’s hesitation.
Now I Am Squall!

Or maybe I’m just a bigger dork.

Thirty Minutes Later, I found Heaven within Heaven.

Still searching for Cosplay stores, I ended up in a dead-end-alley with no addresses. When I turned around, I saw a simple sign with an arrow pointing up, that read, FFXI. Anyone who has followed my LJ for the last two years knows that Final Fantasy Online (XI) has been the anchor which has kept me from going insane in lonely Amsterdam.

Bewildered and Curious, I headed up a few flights of ordinary stairs and opened a door that said, Final Fantasy Online.

Behind this door were the white walls of a 24 hour FFXI-only gaming center. A mirrored sign above the counter read “Real Vana’diel”

At the counter was a girl in FFXI costume who said in Japanese:

“Welcome Home.”

I took off my shoes, walked up to the counter, and held the most nervous and excited conversation of my life. What is this place!? Can I join!? This is Amazing!! The blue-eyed girl and her colleague laughed and happily signed me up into this secret society, and then showed me around the Game Center. There were free drinks, a free soda machine and tea-maker, a full breakfast-lunch-and-dinner menu, and a Final Fantasy Library filled with Comics, Guides, and Pre-Production Art that I had never dreamed of seeing.

No Pictures Allowed in Real Vana’Diel.

Now, every character in FFXI gets a personal space called a “Mog House;” it’s where you store your unused armor, harvest plants, and collect and display rare furniture that affects your gameplay. It looks like a fantastic medieval room, and though each Mog House is personalized, the frame is similar for everyone.

In the center of Real Vana’Diel, they had a Mog House. Where you could smoke or rest or sleep if you needed a break.

I couldn’t believe this place. Tucked unremarkably in some dead-end-alley was Vana’Diel. The computers were ridiculously powerful, and ran the game at a resolution I had never witnessed. I played for a half hour, and then sat in my chair browsing books from the library.

One could live in that place. I think they even had a shower.

I left reluctantly and skipped my way through Akihabara until dinner-time.

Yokohama

Writing about this trip is kinda like going back to Japan. I get to go through all of the days with enough distance that it seems unfamiliar again.

I went to Yokohama the next day, to meet up with Reiko, a friend of a friend at Boom. I had already met her in Amsterdam before. Her English is great, and it was a relief to speak to someone with more than 6 words on either side.

Yokohama is eighty minutes south of Tokyo. It’s the harbor-town-setting of the finale of The Vision of Escaflowne, and also appears in Card Captor Sakura, I believe. Ishikawa-Cho is where I met Reiko, and she took me towards Chinatown. Along the way, I shopped for a bag that I had seen in so many Anime; it’s the private-school bag used in Evangelion and almost all CLAMP series — a cross between a briefcase and a backpack. Everyone I described it to knew what I was talking about, but it didn’t seem to be sold anywhere.

Eventually, Reiko and I ended up in a Chinese restaurant, drinking beer and having a seven course Chinese lunch. I tried everything, even the bowl of rice soup that looked a little bit like the contents of a ten-year old water balloon. Our 91-Year-Old Waiter testified that this soup prolonged your life; Reiko had been eating it for years. She is 35 and I took her for 21.

Maybe I should be hanging out in Chinatown more often.

After lunch, we wandered through malls, talking about High School and popularity. Reiko is a pretty girl, but neither she nor I had good high school experiences. Both of us felt like outsiders; I imagine that everyone does. She liked western films, I liked video games. Both of us would have had it better if we had gone to each other’s school.

Next, we took another train to Yokohama itself, and I tried street-booth bean cakes and took pictures of the architecture, shopped some more and then said our goodbyes. I need to send Reiko a gift. Since she graduated in 88, and liked western movies so much, I figure there’s a good chance her favorite film in High School was Back to the Future.

After Yokohama, I went back to Tokyo and arrived in the rain at Akihabara. Without an umbrella, I dashed from one overhang to the next, until I found a store that was unlocked.

Late at night, the Akiba is less cluttered. I was able to wander the anime isles without bumping into anybody or drawing any stares. I popped in everywhere that I could, until it was so late that only the porn shops and the 1980’s VCR stores were open.

I took the last train to Minowa, and ducked into the shittiest ramen place I could find. It was now genuinely cold outside, but the chef left the door open and the icy breeze carried ramen steam down the length of the bar. I shivered and paid only 600 yen for the largest bowl of delicious pork ramen on earth.

165

On Day Four, I woke up with my new ritual: heading out to the lobby for breakfast with my Ryokan family. Mar-san cooked “Cinnamon Set” French toast, Ken (who speaks English at the level I speak Japanese) would fumble with the coffee maker, Angela chirped about my Anime Purchases, and Yuki or Toshiko would take care of the new guests.

I grabbed a copy of The Japan Times and enjoyed the lobby noise before rocketing off to Harajuku.

The train ride to Harajuku is a long one; it’s on the opposite side of Tokyo from Minowa. I got a seat and then gave it up to an elderly couple, and stood for the next 40 minutes. As the ride dragged on, the metro began to fill with more and more great fashion choices. Beside me was a kid with grey denim jeans cut into shorts on one leg. A girl with heavy red mascara and red-tipped bangs stood next to a poser carrying a guitar on his shoulders. Three girls stepped on in torn up black-dyed sailor uniforms.

I was going to love Harajuku.

Off the train, I took a walking tour through the Gothic-Lolita-Cosplay shopping streets of Harajuku. Even the buildings were dressed up.

Boys wore girls clothing, and girls wore everything else. It was fantastic.

Now, back in Holland, I’d been searching for a small, feminine lab coat to wear around Amsterdam, something I could dress up and turn into a white jacket. Here in Harajuku, I found a pseudo-labcoat made of linen, with an X-shaped crest on the breast and ribbons on the cuffs. It was perfect! I bought it from the same store that had a Britney Spears-Style newsies cap with cat ears sewn into the dome.

Harajuku isn’t just Clark-and-Belmont style stores. Mixed in with the ultra-hip cutting edge designers are traditionalist like Gucci and Prada. For those in LA, it’s as if Beverly Hills emptied into Melrose, and ended in a beautiful nature preserve and temple.

The stores felt edited together with the speed of a music video.

After a couple hours in heaven, I grabbed some sushi and helped tourists with Japanese menu.

For desert, I found an Art-Nuevo café and had Strawberry Cake, because that’s what Sailor Moon would have eaten on a sunny day. I circled up to the top of some Cell Phone Skyscraper, checked my email, and walked through the alleys to find more clothes that will have to wait till the next trip.

It became more and more difficult to take pictures. Everything was so pleasant and charming that I didn’t know what to focus on. My last excursion was into a huge Toy Store. They carried everything from Final Fantasy Jewelry to Life-Size Totoro Beds. It was here that I receieved my first moment of Culture Shock. The Japanese … Loved … Stitch. Almost an entire floor was dedicated to this nearly-forgotten movie. They really loved Stitch … and the Aristocats.

Tokyo Continued.

Day Three in Tokyo was date day. I waited for Chris at Shinjuku station, and when she didn’t show, I wandered around Shinjuku for a bit, angry. On my way back through the station (I was going to Akihabara again), she caught me by sheer chance, apologized, and took me to 100 Yen Sushi before we left the city.

There, she told me her name wasn’t really Chris; it was Jacky. Also, she hated Japanese Food.

Uh-oh.

Regardless, I was set on having a date with C-J, so I held my spirits high as she took me far outside the city center, to the suburbs. We shuttled from Train to Train to Train to Bus and landed at Gaming/Go-Karting/Baseball/Golf/Darts Paradise: DAIKEN.

It’s been years since I’ve loitered outside a city center, and the suburbs of Tokyo felt very Midwestern. If it wasn’t for the immense Shinto/Buddhist/Christian cemetery beside this Tokyo Pseudo-Dave-&-Busters, I would have felt trapped in Rosemont.

I searched for a SFIII cabinet, and was disappointed when the warehouse of gaming didn’t have a single Capcom machine.

I played video games, raced go karts, threw some darts and started to get very bored. Finally, I asked C-J if we could head back into the city for dinner. Reluctantly, she agreed . . . which was strange, since I couldn’t tell if she was having fun or not. It was raining now, and we only had a tiny broken plastic umbrella for the both of us. Together, we slipped down the steep abandoned suburban streets to the bus stop, and discovered that the bus had stopped running at 5:45.

CJ got on the phone and starting chattering to the public transport help line and located another bus stop some 2km away. We had to get there by 7:47. So we laughed and walked through the freezing rain, her jeans getting soaked up to the knee, and my skirt-exposed calves cramping in the cold.

At 7:15, we arrived at the bus stop. The streets were empty, and the only shelter from the rain was a torn tarp over someone’s doorstep. We stood across the street from a temple, and waited. I kept thinking, “This is just like Totoro,” but knew I couldn’t share my feelings with C-J since she didn’t know anything about any pop culture in Japan from the last 30 years.

You gotta love the public transportation system in Tokyo. At 7:47, the bus showed up.

Too bad it was haunted.

We got back into the city and I treated C-J to dinner in Shinjuku. We picked a random restaurant in the NJ building, and were seated in a nearly-private room.
The menu was all kanji, so I just ordered the “Course Dinner.” Waiting for the meal, I gazed out the window - - and was shocked.

Our restaurant was guarded by the Tokyo Metropolitan! Never in my life have I been star-struck, but here I was, speechless and giddy over a building! The Met has been in so many anime. I’ve rarely seen a photograph of it, yet here it was, watching me eat dinner. C-J couldn’t understand, but I was in heaven. I left Shinjuku that night disappointed by the date, but delighted by the scenery.

Tokyo Tour, Day Two

I woke up early on day two of my Tokyo Tour. It was 7:30 in the morning, and I switched from Pajamas into jeans before heading into the lobby for a nervous breakfast. I still didn’t have the confidence to speak in long sentences, so my back-and-forth with the staff of Andon was limited to “Hai, Hai” or “Kore wa nani?”

I ordered the “Regular Set” breakfast: Eggs, Tomatoes, Bacon, Toast It would be the last time. Mar-san was the chef, and despite his culinary authority with French Toast, he could not cook bacon to save his life.

The evening before, at the Udon restaurant, my eager-to-please waitress had suggested I go to some festival that was happening over the weekend. After breakfast, I asked for a map of the Minowa area, and headed out on foot towards the traditional area of Asakusa.

Though I had no idea where I was going, the entire neighborhood was walking in one direction, so I put away my map and herded along. Everyone was carrying umbrellas or wearing towels on their head to protect them from the sun. I hugged the tree line, and groggily arrived at the Sanja Festival.

I suppose I could look up on the internet what the festival was all about, but I’d rather not know the details. The locals carried shrines on their shoulders to the Asakusa-koen, and children played drums and flutes while they were wheeled around in carts through the city streets.

At the Asakusa-koen, hundreds of cramped booths hawked plastic masks or vegetable pancakes or fans. The air was choked with the smoke of cooking fish or incense. I watched one group deliver a Japanese Arc of the Covenant to the huge temple near the 5-story pagoda. Next, crept through tombs and memorials, and headed back towards Minowa after I had purchased my fourth bottle of water.

Along the way back, I stopped in an Arcade and beat Street Fighter III while waiting for a challenger. This would not set the tone for future arcade visits.

Back at Andon, I grabbed my subway map and headed to AKIHABARA.

Akihabara is heaven. If anime is my religion, then Akiba is Mecca. For six blocks in any direction are 8-to-10 story buildings filled with Character Goods, Costumes, Posters, CDs, video-games. In-between these Churches Of Anime are huge amounts of electronics. You want a 1971 SLR camera that has a retro-fitted digital preview screen? Akiba has it.

At first, the volume of titles was so overwhelming that I simply lost my taste for Anime. For so long, Anime has been something personal and special; to suddenly find myself surrounded by it was a little sickening. What should I look at? What makes a character stand out in a sea of pastel eyes and squeaky cheers? I was dizzy and uncomfortable. And I didn’t want to buy anything.

This would change. I went to Akihabara four or five times during my trip.

On the street, I was stopped by a Japanese guy who asked me if I was lost. I told him that I was fine, and he said, “I’ve never seen a blond girl in Akihabara before.”

Exhausted and a little sad, I decided to leave Akiba and get some dinner. I hadn’t eaten anything but eggs, so I wanted my meal to be something special. My guide book had listed Kakiden as the best in traditional Japanese Art-Food. It was at the top of a department store in the shopping district of Shinjuku.

I got off the train and was turned my map in every direction to try and get oriented. I asked for help; none of the locals even knew where we were. So I followed the neon-lit walkway and was shot out into the 24-hour Shinjuku City!

I found my building, and headed to the top floor. Behind rice paper doors was a woman in a Kimono, who greeted me with a startled bow. Another set of Paper Doors and my party of one headed into … the completely empty restaurant.

Just me, sitting at a table. No one else in the entire place. This was a Saturday Night, and this famous restaurant was EMPTY. Awkwardly, I ordered the 15-course-traditional-dinner, and began to receive tiny plate after tiny plate of smoky fish heads and sock flavored soup. The sake was great, and the staff was friendly, but I was still the ONLY PERSON THERE.

After a while, another table showed up. The three of them stared at me like they had reserved the place for the evening. Maybe they had. I finished my final plate of fish head or stones or grass or whatever, and rocketed out into Shinjuku again.

I shopped for a bit (because I could! Nothing was Closed! Take that, Holland!!) and then mustered up the courage to go to a lesbian bar. I needed to know if the international standard for Lesbian was Ugly, or if it was just a western thing. Gay town was warm and friendly, and a few gay guys helped me find the door to the unmarked lesbian bar.

What do you know? Lesbians are allowed to be cute in Japan! I guess the dyke police don’t attack you if you wear your hair long in Shinjuku. It could be that most of them were still In-The-Closet at work and home, but here was a room full of decently attractive girls! One of them, Chris, asked me out on a date for the next day and I agreed.

Then I got to know her. Never trust a girl in Tokyo if she doesn’t know Ghibli.

Tokyo Day One

After doing my best to sleep on the plane, I landed in my first Japanese Afternoon barely lucid and quite dizzy. It was Friday the 21st of June. I needed money, I needed a Train Ticket, but first, I needed to stand in 2 hours of Immigration Lines. I read my entire first volume of the Fullmetal Alchemist manga, and an American Football Player behind me said, “Fullmetal? I seen that on Cartoon Network.” It was the last terrible Anime conversation I’d have for nine days.

Soon after, I hopped onto the Tokyo-bound Keisei Line. It’s an 80 minute trip on the Metro to Tokyo, and I was humbly aware of the size of my suitcase. I should have packed less. Especially since I arrived during rush hour.

However, while waiting for the train to leave the station, I asked a Japanese woman sitting across from me, “Sono densha wa … Keisei Ueno desuka?” She was so delighted that I spoke Japanese that she came across to sit with me and give me a much-needed refresher course in Nihongo … since much of my words and sentence structures had been clipped with Dutch. Her name was Tamimi, she gave me her phone number in case I needed anything while I was in Japan. This was my introduction to the legendary Japanese Politeness. I told her I would call only if I was in Jail or had Won A Lot of Money.

A stranger who trusts you really teaches you about your personal boundaries. This was something that I dealt with a lot over the course of the trip.

The train filled up with people as I got closer to Ueno station, and soon I had given up my seat to sit on my Suitcase and take up less floor space. Transferred without a problem, navigated with Japanese/English guideposts all the way to my small hotel in Minowa, used my Playstation Portable as a PDA — I had downloaded the area maps that morning, since I had no access to a printer. Finally, I found the opaque glass exterior of my hotel.

I stayed at the Andon Ryokan. It was like renting a family. The staff were friends with each other, and anxious to make new friends with the guests. Being straight forward with my interest in Japan (”I’m into Anime”) meant to them that I was harmless and quirky. They laughed with me when I wore cosplay headbands to breakfast, and helped me translate the instructions on my Fullmetal Alchemist Pocketwatch. Andon makes good “Cinnamon Set” French toast. And the coffee and tea is free.

My room was on the first floor, next to the lobby. No natural light, and only a floor lamp to make it brighter. Next time, I’m requesting a 2nd Floor Room. The rooms at Andon are the smallest legal size for a hotel, but the design of the building is modern and unique, making it seem more like a walk-in art project than a pseudo-hostel.

After a shower (my room was across from the Shower and Computer, so I was always running into people in my Pajamas … thank GOD I bought new slippers), I went out to get some Udon.

The Udon was amazing and cheap. My Japanese was coming back faster now, and I grabbed the newspaper to scan the Katakana. Seeing a Gaijin grab a Japanese paper was a shock to the staff, and they called out “Eeeehhhh? Yomimasuka?” when I asked if it was ok for me to borrow it. Now I was friends with the waitress, apparently. She told me in rapid Japanese that she was friends with everyone in the neighborhood and I should drop by again tomorrow. I ordered some hot sake (Sake, Atsui … Onegaishimasu~), and began to read the paper.

To my surprise, the first page had a picture of the Grove Theater Los Angeles from the previous night. It was an article about the opening of Star Wars, where I had been the evening before. I was so thrilled that I showed it off to the staff, and soon all of the locals were gathered around the article at my table, searching for my face in the crowd.

After dinner, I wandered around in the cool early evening, thinking about how Minowa felt so sickeningly familiar. It was not the culture-shock I was expecting; it was more like I was visiting somewhere I’d lived before. I poked my head in a pachinko parlor, I went to the 7-11 and purchased the best pen I’d ever held. The brands on the shelves were all things I’d seen in Little Tokyo LA, and the food was all stuff I’d tried before. Except now it wasn’t a special, expensive import collectable. I didn’t need to clutch my canned coffee with both hands — I could just pick it up from any store and chug it on my way down the street. At every convenience store was a rack of my favorite vitamin Jelly drink In. I had seen a character drink one in FLCL, and tried it years earlier in Los Angeles. Now, staring up at the glowing shelf in awe, I realized: I could eat/drink In whenever I wanted. And they had more flavors here.

Back a the hotel, I crashed on my floor-mat with the Television on. There was no anime that night, but there were countless well-produced and cheerful commercials. Beat Takashi, star of Zatoichi and Battle Royale, was on a guessing-game-show. I fell asleep staring at his dyed blond hair.