Tokyo
THE NIGHT BEFORE.
The take-off is always the worst part. Scratch that. Last night was the worst part. The doubting, the knowing I could still cancel at any minute...that I could not go.
Looking out my window, the sky is divided into equal sections of blue and white and a fuzzy line in the middle where the two meet. Not long ago we were sailing over snowy white mountaintops. I saw mountains, me, little old Mia from Melrose Park. It may very well be the last thing I see, but there, I saw them. The take-off, well that part was pleasantly obscured by the sound of the movie playing in front of me.
But back to last night.
One hour past the time I had scheduled myself to go to sleep, I was still up packing bags and making last minute decisions. This dress or that one? Take this plug, or not?
Cue my parents.
"You matter to us," my dad said, "you're important to us." My mother looked at the wall I had so colorfully decorated with a combination of college posters and random artwork, the fake daisies on my desk popping out on top. She was probably crying, she had cried before, out of worry. My dad, I had suspected, had forgotten about the entire bit, but as it turns out, he had just been wishfully thinking that id changed my mind. "So you are going after all?" he asked sadly, I have no choice. I told him, it’s too late to be changing my mind now. I bought all this stuff...and the ticket is nonrefundable"
"Don’t worry about the ticket, he said, I can pay you back the ticket cost." he paused, "How much was it?"
"1000"
"I’ll pay for it. Just stay here. You’re important to us. Aren’t you important to yourself? Don’t you care about dying?"
"I can’t let you pay for it. It’s my money there’s no reason you should lose yours like that. “
Mom piped in to back him up.
" I want to not go."
"Go to Europe, to Barcelona. Someplace easier, someplace where they speak your language."
"It’s just so far away" she said "and you’re going alone"
"I’m scared. I am. But do you understand that if I don’t leave, I’ll always be scared? I’ll always be scared. I don’t want to live like that." "I’m always going to be alone. Whether now, or when I’m 33, I’m always going to be alone"
I get what you’re saying" mom says, "but I also don’t"
Dad gives a big sigh, "it’s your decision. You are old enough to make your own decisions now. We can’t stop you. But just think about it."
They both walk defeated out the door. And leave me, mid episode, mid sock fold, sad unsure, and scared, all over again.
I spend the rest of the night sending out desperate SOS signals to my immediate world, which let’s face it-narrows down to about six people. My sister, the douchebag, my best friends, and one extra-which is the boy that loved me when I was in high school, and the one I could never love back.
Some of them respond, some don’t. After days of silence, the douchebag emerges to try to offer some words of comfort. Being the person that I love, I expect his words to touch me but they don’t. They’re somewhat reassuring. Because he is honest, brutal even, and if he says that I can do this, then maybe I can. But even he seems unsure of my ability to do so. His texts I later to say that he’s sorry that he wasn’t more encouraging, but that he would try to send out what little good energy he had out to me. Then it’s back to radio silent. I try to sleep but everyone seems to awaken as I do so. Ariana pops out from exile to tell me she’s sorry she didn’t say goodbye and that’s she’s been a terrible friend. I don’t correct her but say thank you because out of all the people who’ve talked to me so far, she is the one that is the most reassuring. I regain some of my strength. I cry it out, per her recommendation, and ask god to show me the way in the morning. In the morning, I think, I’ll know what to do. But let’s face it, vie already made up my mind them because in the morning I will just follow the plan I carefully laid out weeks before. And things will be simple, until they’re not. But let’s not deal with the messy part now. Simple is good
I tell my sister I would be ashamed of myself anyway, if I cancelled. I’d be disappointed in my own cowardice.
But I worry about my parents. In the kitchen I hear them talk over dinner and I wonder if they are talking about me. I can almost hear them. Both of them could go into an emergency room over this, so I tell my sister to look out for that.
This is when being American would help I think. Mexican parents are not like American parents. They are attached and clingy. They are protective to the end. Family is all wave got. Perhaps that why there are so many gangs in Mexican culture. A gang is just another sort of family right? All the lost boys gathering together for one peter pan, a clan who just refuses to grow up. Mexican parents, they just don’t let go. And most Mexican girls, they will not wander like I do. They will not study art. They may or may not go to college. They will not be single in the damning way that I am single. Unlucky for them though, I raised myself an American girl. Perhaps I lacked Mexican influence. The addition of one or two or ten more family members might have taken care of that. But despite growing up in a Latino community and going through both my parents' quest for citizenship, I remain an American to the core. American girls want different things see. American girls want to see the world. They know that somethings out there, they want independence and know there’s no shame in being single-being single just equals more fun. American girls know they can be artists, and musicians, and writers, and go to college-college isn’t much a question, as a given. And maybe, perhaps, in the distant future, American girls want a family. But that’s more of an eventually kind of thing. The next thing to college that American girls want, is to live on their own.
I have been stricken a triple blow however, or double depending the way you look at it See when Mexican girls go to college, if Mexican girls go to college, chances are, more often than not, that they will not go far away-they simply don't h aver the means to. And without those crucial years of separation, chances are, after college, Mexican girls will never leave the house. Unless they get married. It’s actually more likely that they would bring someone into their house, than get out of it. I am one of these girls, yes, but also, as an artist, it just wouldn’t be possible to move out of my house post-graduation. Artists, we are happy little leeches, mooching off our parents forever, spending the would-be rent money on canvases and paint.
Mexican girls do not book a flight out of the blue to go to Tokyo and leave their sick parents behind.
They just don’t.
But I am Mexican American.
So I do.
Now the clouds are puffs of white that look like mountains themselves. One massive headache later, vie been fed a meal that was made up of about as much food as a Lunchables box. Hungry, I scarfed it all down. All except for a small brownie which I’ve kept at my table, and now and then stare at, wondering if it’s worth the terrible nausea that is sure to ensue once I’ve eaten it. So far, it’s not.
The snowy White Mountains are back and I have managed to capture a quick shot. I’d heard the airplane would get cold at this altitude, but have yet to feel such a thing. Unless I just happen to be cold blooded.
When I get up in the morning, its four forty five, and my alarm has done its job. I almost wish it hadn’t. I try to remind myself that I could use the time to eat breakfast, but once I see that I only half-finished pacing last night, I realize breakfast will have to wait. Thirty minutes later, we are off schedule but out the door. I try to say goodbye to my father, but he is in the shower. when he comes out, I give him a hug and he says ,"so you’re really going?" and I wonder if there’s a tear that came out of his eye or if it’s just shower water. My mother stays in her chair on the kitchen table, going over god knows what. Its early, they shouldn’t be up, but they are and it almost feels better than sneaking out like a thief in the night. My uncle drives and it takes less than twenty minutes to get to the airport. Then I’m on my own. The procedure all goes much more quickly than I remember it going. In my life, I had only flown once, and it had been to sleepy West Virginia, for an all-paid college tour. When you are a good girl, raised by good parents, getting good grades, you get that sort of stuff. That time I went with my sister, and we got so lost on our way back, that we ended up in the departure gate instead of at arrival. The map of Narita airport looks a bit intimidating and the Seoul one isn’t even offered in English, so I put it away and try not to think of it as a bad omen. During my trip, I just keep wishing I had practiced Japanese and Korean more. Or at all. Or had some sort of printed pamphlet I could cram-session into my brain a-la-middle school quiz style. The flight is long and boring, and the pressure from the airplane begins what I know will be a great big headache later. I keep myself from falling asleep because I know I’m going to have to sleep later on the Narita flight in order to avoid an excessive amount of jet lag when I land a day later, and totally out of Chicago time. The guy next to me is nice but not chatty, and cute but out of my league. There is just something untouchable about a Caucasian boy to a Mexican girl like me. A feeling that no matter what I do, I will never be like them, because they were just born into something greater, a class all their own, a strange perfect world like in TV show scenarios. Me, I belong in Jane the virgin, the fosters, a spicy sidekick to an Emily omen on abs, they, well they have all the lead roles in all the other shows and all the other movies-they get their pick of the lot. But no one, will ever, historically speaking, pick someone like me.
Unless someone like me is so ridiculously gorgeous that our skin color goes beyond our stereotypes into something earning the word 'exotic'.
Sadly, however, this is not the case.
Cloud watching gets decidedly much more interesting when done from an airplane. Two seconds have passed and I have already managed to spot a couple of Chinese lions. An elephant dances, paw up, in midair, and an angel reaches out to what could be poppa from Avatar, The Last Airbender. I wish I could sleep, but the headache says I’m going to have a tough night. And I wonder at what point I’ll have to bother the guy next to me for a chance to go to the bathroom. When you’re sitting down, you just can’t tell. I wish I could watch a movie since there is a good selection, but again, headaches are my enemy. Instead I should sleep. I really should.
Looking out my window, the sky is divided into equal sections of blue and white and a fuzzy line in the middle where the two meet. Not long ago we were sailing over snowy white mountaintops. I saw mountains, me, little old Mia from Melrose Park. It may very well be the last thing I see, but there, I saw them. The take-off, well that part was pleasantly obscured by the sound of the movie playing in front of me.
But back to last night.
One hour past the time I had scheduled myself to go to sleep, I was still up packing bags and making last minute decisions. This dress or that one? Take this plug, or not?
Cue my parents.
"You matter to us," my dad said, "you're important to us." My mother looked at the wall I had so colorfully decorated with a combination of college posters and random artwork, the fake daisies on my desk popping out on top. She was probably crying, she had cried before, out of worry. My dad, I had suspected, had forgotten about the entire bit, but as it turns out, he had just been wishfully thinking that id changed my mind. "So you are going after all?" he asked sadly, I have no choice. I told him, it’s too late to be changing my mind now. I bought all this stuff...and the ticket is nonrefundable"
"Don’t worry about the ticket, he said, I can pay you back the ticket cost." he paused, "How much was it?"
"1000"
"I’ll pay for it. Just stay here. You’re important to us. Aren’t you important to yourself? Don’t you care about dying?"
"I can’t let you pay for it. It’s my money there’s no reason you should lose yours like that. “
Mom piped in to back him up.
" I want to not go."
"Go to Europe, to Barcelona. Someplace easier, someplace where they speak your language."
"It’s just so far away" she said "and you’re going alone"
"I’m scared. I am. But do you understand that if I don’t leave, I’ll always be scared? I’ll always be scared. I don’t want to live like that." "I’m always going to be alone. Whether now, or when I’m 33, I’m always going to be alone"
I get what you’re saying" mom says, "but I also don’t"
Dad gives a big sigh, "it’s your decision. You are old enough to make your own decisions now. We can’t stop you. But just think about it."
They both walk defeated out the door. And leave me, mid episode, mid sock fold, sad unsure, and scared, all over again.
I spend the rest of the night sending out desperate SOS signals to my immediate world, which let’s face it-narrows down to about six people. My sister, the douchebag, my best friends, and one extra-which is the boy that loved me when I was in high school, and the one I could never love back.
Some of them respond, some don’t. After days of silence, the douchebag emerges to try to offer some words of comfort. Being the person that I love, I expect his words to touch me but they don’t. They’re somewhat reassuring. Because he is honest, brutal even, and if he says that I can do this, then maybe I can. But even he seems unsure of my ability to do so. His texts I later to say that he’s sorry that he wasn’t more encouraging, but that he would try to send out what little good energy he had out to me. Then it’s back to radio silent. I try to sleep but everyone seems to awaken as I do so. Ariana pops out from exile to tell me she’s sorry she didn’t say goodbye and that’s she’s been a terrible friend. I don’t correct her but say thank you because out of all the people who’ve talked to me so far, she is the one that is the most reassuring. I regain some of my strength. I cry it out, per her recommendation, and ask god to show me the way in the morning. In the morning, I think, I’ll know what to do. But let’s face it, vie already made up my mind them because in the morning I will just follow the plan I carefully laid out weeks before. And things will be simple, until they’re not. But let’s not deal with the messy part now. Simple is good
I tell my sister I would be ashamed of myself anyway, if I cancelled. I’d be disappointed in my own cowardice.
But I worry about my parents. In the kitchen I hear them talk over dinner and I wonder if they are talking about me. I can almost hear them. Both of them could go into an emergency room over this, so I tell my sister to look out for that.
This is when being American would help I think. Mexican parents are not like American parents. They are attached and clingy. They are protective to the end. Family is all wave got. Perhaps that why there are so many gangs in Mexican culture. A gang is just another sort of family right? All the lost boys gathering together for one peter pan, a clan who just refuses to grow up. Mexican parents, they just don’t let go. And most Mexican girls, they will not wander like I do. They will not study art. They may or may not go to college. They will not be single in the damning way that I am single. Unlucky for them though, I raised myself an American girl. Perhaps I lacked Mexican influence. The addition of one or two or ten more family members might have taken care of that. But despite growing up in a Latino community and going through both my parents' quest for citizenship, I remain an American to the core. American girls want different things see. American girls want to see the world. They know that somethings out there, they want independence and know there’s no shame in being single-being single just equals more fun. American girls know they can be artists, and musicians, and writers, and go to college-college isn’t much a question, as a given. And maybe, perhaps, in the distant future, American girls want a family. But that’s more of an eventually kind of thing. The next thing to college that American girls want, is to live on their own.
I have been stricken a triple blow however, or double depending the way you look at it See when Mexican girls go to college, if Mexican girls go to college, chances are, more often than not, that they will not go far away-they simply don't h aver the means to. And without those crucial years of separation, chances are, after college, Mexican girls will never leave the house. Unless they get married. It’s actually more likely that they would bring someone into their house, than get out of it. I am one of these girls, yes, but also, as an artist, it just wouldn’t be possible to move out of my house post-graduation. Artists, we are happy little leeches, mooching off our parents forever, spending the would-be rent money on canvases and paint.
Mexican girls do not book a flight out of the blue to go to Tokyo and leave their sick parents behind.
They just don’t.
But I am Mexican American.
So I do.
Now the clouds are puffs of white that look like mountains themselves. One massive headache later, vie been fed a meal that was made up of about as much food as a Lunchables box. Hungry, I scarfed it all down. All except for a small brownie which I’ve kept at my table, and now and then stare at, wondering if it’s worth the terrible nausea that is sure to ensue once I’ve eaten it. So far, it’s not.
The snowy White Mountains are back and I have managed to capture a quick shot. I’d heard the airplane would get cold at this altitude, but have yet to feel such a thing. Unless I just happen to be cold blooded.
When I get up in the morning, its four forty five, and my alarm has done its job. I almost wish it hadn’t. I try to remind myself that I could use the time to eat breakfast, but once I see that I only half-finished pacing last night, I realize breakfast will have to wait. Thirty minutes later, we are off schedule but out the door. I try to say goodbye to my father, but he is in the shower. when he comes out, I give him a hug and he says ,"so you’re really going?" and I wonder if there’s a tear that came out of his eye or if it’s just shower water. My mother stays in her chair on the kitchen table, going over god knows what. Its early, they shouldn’t be up, but they are and it almost feels better than sneaking out like a thief in the night. My uncle drives and it takes less than twenty minutes to get to the airport. Then I’m on my own. The procedure all goes much more quickly than I remember it going. In my life, I had only flown once, and it had been to sleepy West Virginia, for an all-paid college tour. When you are a good girl, raised by good parents, getting good grades, you get that sort of stuff. That time I went with my sister, and we got so lost on our way back, that we ended up in the departure gate instead of at arrival. The map of Narita airport looks a bit intimidating and the Seoul one isn’t even offered in English, so I put it away and try not to think of it as a bad omen. During my trip, I just keep wishing I had practiced Japanese and Korean more. Or at all. Or had some sort of printed pamphlet I could cram-session into my brain a-la-middle school quiz style. The flight is long and boring, and the pressure from the airplane begins what I know will be a great big headache later. I keep myself from falling asleep because I know I’m going to have to sleep later on the Narita flight in order to avoid an excessive amount of jet lag when I land a day later, and totally out of Chicago time. The guy next to me is nice but not chatty, and cute but out of my league. There is just something untouchable about a Caucasian boy to a Mexican girl like me. A feeling that no matter what I do, I will never be like them, because they were just born into something greater, a class all their own, a strange perfect world like in TV show scenarios. Me, I belong in Jane the virgin, the fosters, a spicy sidekick to an Emily omen on abs, they, well they have all the lead roles in all the other shows and all the other movies-they get their pick of the lot. But no one, will ever, historically speaking, pick someone like me.
Unless someone like me is so ridiculously gorgeous that our skin color goes beyond our stereotypes into something earning the word 'exotic'.
Sadly, however, this is not the case.
Cloud watching gets decidedly much more interesting when done from an airplane. Two seconds have passed and I have already managed to spot a couple of Chinese lions. An elephant dances, paw up, in midair, and an angel reaches out to what could be poppa from Avatar, The Last Airbender. I wish I could sleep, but the headache says I’m going to have a tough night. And I wonder at what point I’ll have to bother the guy next to me for a chance to go to the bathroom. When you’re sitting down, you just can’t tell. I wish I could watch a movie since there is a good selection, but again, headaches are my enemy. Instead I should sleep. I really should.
On the plane
I wake up and its blue and it all looks a bit like the first night in the strain, the one episode that I managed to watch all the way through, and I’m saddened to find that only an hour has passed. Only an hour. Time moves slowly in the air. A movie felt four hours long, and sleep-an hour. I can’t find my airport pillow and am unsure whether or not id use it anyway given the risk that it’s not been washed. I could take out my own, per the kit that I managed to buy one day beforehand thanks to various travel warnings from people more savvy than me, but am worried I may never get the blanket and pillow to stuff themselves back into that small round little plastic bag. So I just don’t. I’m afraid that for the few minutes I was asleep, I drooled on and off and hope that no one was awake to see that. For once, it’s actually a good thing that a beautiful Korean/Japanese boy is in fact, not sitting next to me.
Given the very little life experience I do have about things, the extent of my knowledge stems from film. And in film, these are the things that can be noted about travel. Travel, despite its muck-ups, is bound to be fun if you are in your twenties, and whether or not you are surrounded by a pack of friends. If you are alone, you will find love. If you are not alone, your friendships will transcend into something practically existential. If you are in your thirties or forties, travel is the midlife crisis of your time. Very eat pray love style, you are in the time in which you get to rediscover yourself. And the world. if you are in your sixties, it’s all very best exotic marigold hotel-there are tests and trials and you complain a lot, but you also become very grateful and meet some young couples, reminisce some, and feel young again.
But of course I am favoring all the happy scenarios because I cannot at the moment process the other ones. Happy thoughts only please. We need positive energy here.
Back to the point, in all the film travel experiences, the flight is usually never good, people sleep quite easily, all at the same time, and children always always always kick the backseat. Now of your travel companion you could have a pick from the following options: there is the chatty Kathy that wishes to tell you all about what they are doing and perhaps, if you’re lucky, their life story. Then there’s the rude one passenger. The one who barely speaks at all. The grandmother who shows you her grandkids. The handsome stranger. The weird one. Or one or two out of a family of five. For a while there, I definitely wondered if my travel buddy was the chatty Kathy type. The worst. But once the headphones were in, I was in the clear. He did manage to ask me if I was Thai or Filipino, because apparently I look it. Unless he was just asking that as an entrance way into telling me he was on his way to Thailand-already trying to suck someone else in to ask for more.
I will not fall into that trap sir. Not unless you are 23 and hot that is.
Vie decided I dislike airplanes. I haven’t even landed yet and I think I already want to go home. According to the map on my screen, its 10 am in Tokyo which means I should have been asleep for hours now but that’s not happening. We are barely halfway there. Okay a little more than half. But still. I can’t imagine being back on one of these in a few days. If only we could just teleport from place to place-it would make traveling more agreeable. All this extra time does is make you rethink why the hell you booked the flight in the first place. I know that as soon as I land, I won’t want to leave the airport. Never mind Tokyo, I just really don’t want to go to Seoul anymore. I’m scared.
Also, the coughing fits have restarted. Perhaps my body knows its nighttime somewhere. There’s an ocean below me somewhere. And Hawaii. And I’m actually grateful I can’t see it. What’s the point? I can’t swim anyway, so we all know I wouldn’t survive.
Given the very little life experience I do have about things, the extent of my knowledge stems from film. And in film, these are the things that can be noted about travel. Travel, despite its muck-ups, is bound to be fun if you are in your twenties, and whether or not you are surrounded by a pack of friends. If you are alone, you will find love. If you are not alone, your friendships will transcend into something practically existential. If you are in your thirties or forties, travel is the midlife crisis of your time. Very eat pray love style, you are in the time in which you get to rediscover yourself. And the world. if you are in your sixties, it’s all very best exotic marigold hotel-there are tests and trials and you complain a lot, but you also become very grateful and meet some young couples, reminisce some, and feel young again.
But of course I am favoring all the happy scenarios because I cannot at the moment process the other ones. Happy thoughts only please. We need positive energy here.
Back to the point, in all the film travel experiences, the flight is usually never good, people sleep quite easily, all at the same time, and children always always always kick the backseat. Now of your travel companion you could have a pick from the following options: there is the chatty Kathy that wishes to tell you all about what they are doing and perhaps, if you’re lucky, their life story. Then there’s the rude one passenger. The one who barely speaks at all. The grandmother who shows you her grandkids. The handsome stranger. The weird one. Or one or two out of a family of five. For a while there, I definitely wondered if my travel buddy was the chatty Kathy type. The worst. But once the headphones were in, I was in the clear. He did manage to ask me if I was Thai or Filipino, because apparently I look it. Unless he was just asking that as an entrance way into telling me he was on his way to Thailand-already trying to suck someone else in to ask for more.
I will not fall into that trap sir. Not unless you are 23 and hot that is.
Vie decided I dislike airplanes. I haven’t even landed yet and I think I already want to go home. According to the map on my screen, its 10 am in Tokyo which means I should have been asleep for hours now but that’s not happening. We are barely halfway there. Okay a little more than half. But still. I can’t imagine being back on one of these in a few days. If only we could just teleport from place to place-it would make traveling more agreeable. All this extra time does is make you rethink why the hell you booked the flight in the first place. I know that as soon as I land, I won’t want to leave the airport. Never mind Tokyo, I just really don’t want to go to Seoul anymore. I’m scared.
Also, the coughing fits have restarted. Perhaps my body knows its nighttime somewhere. There’s an ocean below me somewhere. And Hawaii. And I’m actually grateful I can’t see it. What’s the point? I can’t swim anyway, so we all know I wouldn’t survive.
Landing
2pm japan time. I’ve been woken from finally sleeping for arrival procedures. The plane doesn’t land for about another hour and a half, but documentation for our entry into japan is being passed around, and I imagine I should be awake for that. My ass hurts. More sitting on Narita express after this.
8:52 pm Tokyo time, although my phone insists it is in fact, 5:52 am. Which is neither here nor there-perhaps Denver time.
Nothing makes one as malodorous as a 14 hour flight and a landing on a humid day. Customs took an hour, which makes me think that that whole lets pick up the wife device at Seoul between 9 and 10 pm closing time, is a very nice dream and very bad reality. Unless the Seoul airport has considerably less traffic and lets me through without delay. Seoul, feels so far away. I can't and don’t want to imagine how badly I will get lost there. Shinjuku, well that’s another thing. The arrival gate takes me to baggage claim, which is intended to skip, but finding my bag turns out to be easy since its standing alone on the end and is easily spottable given the accidental color scheme id given it, its bright green strap against the deep purple fabric and pink luggage tag. I grab them and of course, head to the nearest loo. There’s just something about airplanes that makes me pee like crazy. Either that, or my bladder is just used to giving up the water weight for me now, since I’ve spent so long trying to coax it to. I haven’t eaten anything but airplane food all day long, but before I get to worry about anything else, and after congratulating myself for successfully flushing a Japanese toilet with little to no trouble, (amazed that the toilet was heated-don’t know if it was pleasant or unpleasant though) I head off to the exit where they check my papers, then let me go on to find my Wi-Fi device. I spend about 45 minutes trying to find it, then finally ask information, who directs me to a spot at the corner of the end of the south gate. "Maria Cruz" a woman points at me, guessing, "YES!" I shout, excitedly, forgetting that I should really be speaking Japanese now. It’s okay though, because as I head up to the counter, she hands me paperwork, asks for my passport, and replies "Muchas gracias."
Here I was, just a few hours ago, worried that no one would speak English, and now there was a woman in front of me, speaking Spanish! Good Spanish too! She asks me about my family, and how they came over from Mexico, and soon enough, I am on my way, feeling reassured. I stop near the doors to input my password and feel the freshness of the cool air that whooshes inside as people head in and out in and out. After a couple of tries, my phone is back to life, and I send a couple messages telling people I am alive, then head down to the trains.
Narita express is as efficient a system as they say. There’s a ticket counter at which a woman waits, she tells me the price and that the next train leaves in tie minutes, I ask her doubtfully, if she thinks It’s close enough that I can make it. She only says "3 minutes" and I get the cue that I should really leave. To my surprise however, my platform is only an escalator away, and the train is pulled up to exactly where my reservation is made. I climb aboard, following an American father daughter couple, set my bags aside, and find my seat. After sitting for 12 hours nonstop, a train seemed like torture, but I’m so tired, that the seat is nice. I try to ignore the travel warning on the screen and focus outside the window, where fields of green are whooshing by, and I’m pleased to find a couple of cherry blossom trees and forests that look like they belong in My Neighbor, Totoro. The houses look shoddy and dilapidated, and not in the attractive way that Brazilian (input word for pueblos) are. It makes me wonder if I made a mistake spending 1000 to be here, plus travel expenses, and makes me even more homesick than I already am. I try to reassure myself, because after all this is china prefecture, and Tokyo is an hour away.
Sometime after Tokyo and before Shibuya, the sky gets dark. It is barely 6pm but I can hardly see anything out the window. The dark makes me worry. It makes everything look frightening and unknown, and I make a mental note to return to my hotel every day before 6pm. I try to remind myself also, that Shibuya is surely better since it is home to Shibuya crossing, a street filled with light. Shinjuku as well, promises to be a bustling metropolis known for its nightlife. So maybe walking alone in the dark isn’t something I should fear.
The thing I do fear, is getting lost. Once I step out of Shinjuku station, my google maps makes it clear it has no intention of leading me to my hotel, and after several unsuccessful tries, I find a way to cheat it out of its trickery, and follow my dot around on the map until it matches up with the hotel location. I’m delighted to find that the hotel is in the center of a great shopping location, passing a forever 21, h and m, the Shinjuku subway, a McDonalds, burger king, and the local cinema on my way. It takes me a while to find the hotel entrance, almost entering the seedy looking alleyway on my quest. After seeing a multitude of tall beautiful Japanese boys and girls in school uniforms, my mood has brightened quite a bit though, and once I find the elevator door, press the button for the third floor, and being a rude foreigner, enter the elevator before I allow an elder man to enter before me. I scold myself for this in the elevator, and try to remember house and culture rules. Removing my shoes at the entrance, I proceed to check in and am a key and instructions on how to open the door.
C28 and turn to the left. I’m savvy enough that despite there being three Japanese woman ahead of me, I am the only one capable of opening the door for them. I find my room easily enough, then find the locker room, move my stuff, and discover inside the pair of pajamas I hoped id find-except they are a size too small for someone like me, leaving the pants feeling tight in strange places. But hey, what can you do. Later on, a visitor from New Zealand finds her own to be too small and discovers that you can exchange them for a bigger size. I’m not too bothered by it though, so I stay in the small pair and head for the showers.
The bathroom turns out to be everything I hoped it would be-complete with girly facial washes of the Japanese kind, showers stacked with Shiseido bath goods, everything but a loofa. It feels like the best college dorm ever, honestly. The capsule room I’ve got is on the ground level, which is fine because I’m short, and I wonder if they knew that. There’s only one plug however, but thankfully, I’ve had the brains to bring a long a multi-charger. The converter turns out to be completely in necessary so i guess well put it in the big bag and save it for a someday trip to Europe. The shower door has a notice to please not bleach or dye y our hair, confirming my fears about what a trick it’s going to be to wash my hair in their shower without leaving a trace of that damn red dye. To be fair though, my hair has been dyed already and I will not have dyed it on the premises, simply washed it. The nozzle is small enough to make me think that if only I could direct its attention to only my hair, I might get away with doing a somewhat clean job-if only there was a visible drain spot on the floor to aim all the red towards. I could loofa it all to death, but that involves a trip to forever 21 tomorrow, so I indulge in body washes, and leave it all for later. Right now, it’s just me and the nozzle, and perfectly warm water, taking the troubles of travel away.
I’m dying to try out the rest of the bathroom, all the girly gadgetry, but it has become filled with other visitors, which makes it too intimidating, so I move on.
ii wish I had painted and cut my nails beforehand like I said I would, but it’s too late so I hide my feet and myself from world view and retreat to my room to write it all out before going to bed, thinking of how the toilet in the girls powder room, had a noise machine to drown out the sounds of peeing.
8:52 pm Tokyo time, although my phone insists it is in fact, 5:52 am. Which is neither here nor there-perhaps Denver time.
Nothing makes one as malodorous as a 14 hour flight and a landing on a humid day. Customs took an hour, which makes me think that that whole lets pick up the wife device at Seoul between 9 and 10 pm closing time, is a very nice dream and very bad reality. Unless the Seoul airport has considerably less traffic and lets me through without delay. Seoul, feels so far away. I can't and don’t want to imagine how badly I will get lost there. Shinjuku, well that’s another thing. The arrival gate takes me to baggage claim, which is intended to skip, but finding my bag turns out to be easy since its standing alone on the end and is easily spottable given the accidental color scheme id given it, its bright green strap against the deep purple fabric and pink luggage tag. I grab them and of course, head to the nearest loo. There’s just something about airplanes that makes me pee like crazy. Either that, or my bladder is just used to giving up the water weight for me now, since I’ve spent so long trying to coax it to. I haven’t eaten anything but airplane food all day long, but before I get to worry about anything else, and after congratulating myself for successfully flushing a Japanese toilet with little to no trouble, (amazed that the toilet was heated-don’t know if it was pleasant or unpleasant though) I head off to the exit where they check my papers, then let me go on to find my Wi-Fi device. I spend about 45 minutes trying to find it, then finally ask information, who directs me to a spot at the corner of the end of the south gate. "Maria Cruz" a woman points at me, guessing, "YES!" I shout, excitedly, forgetting that I should really be speaking Japanese now. It’s okay though, because as I head up to the counter, she hands me paperwork, asks for my passport, and replies "Muchas gracias."
Here I was, just a few hours ago, worried that no one would speak English, and now there was a woman in front of me, speaking Spanish! Good Spanish too! She asks me about my family, and how they came over from Mexico, and soon enough, I am on my way, feeling reassured. I stop near the doors to input my password and feel the freshness of the cool air that whooshes inside as people head in and out in and out. After a couple of tries, my phone is back to life, and I send a couple messages telling people I am alive, then head down to the trains.
Narita express is as efficient a system as they say. There’s a ticket counter at which a woman waits, she tells me the price and that the next train leaves in tie minutes, I ask her doubtfully, if she thinks It’s close enough that I can make it. She only says "3 minutes" and I get the cue that I should really leave. To my surprise however, my platform is only an escalator away, and the train is pulled up to exactly where my reservation is made. I climb aboard, following an American father daughter couple, set my bags aside, and find my seat. After sitting for 12 hours nonstop, a train seemed like torture, but I’m so tired, that the seat is nice. I try to ignore the travel warning on the screen and focus outside the window, where fields of green are whooshing by, and I’m pleased to find a couple of cherry blossom trees and forests that look like they belong in My Neighbor, Totoro. The houses look shoddy and dilapidated, and not in the attractive way that Brazilian (input word for pueblos) are. It makes me wonder if I made a mistake spending 1000 to be here, plus travel expenses, and makes me even more homesick than I already am. I try to reassure myself, because after all this is china prefecture, and Tokyo is an hour away.
Sometime after Tokyo and before Shibuya, the sky gets dark. It is barely 6pm but I can hardly see anything out the window. The dark makes me worry. It makes everything look frightening and unknown, and I make a mental note to return to my hotel every day before 6pm. I try to remind myself also, that Shibuya is surely better since it is home to Shibuya crossing, a street filled with light. Shinjuku as well, promises to be a bustling metropolis known for its nightlife. So maybe walking alone in the dark isn’t something I should fear.
The thing I do fear, is getting lost. Once I step out of Shinjuku station, my google maps makes it clear it has no intention of leading me to my hotel, and after several unsuccessful tries, I find a way to cheat it out of its trickery, and follow my dot around on the map until it matches up with the hotel location. I’m delighted to find that the hotel is in the center of a great shopping location, passing a forever 21, h and m, the Shinjuku subway, a McDonalds, burger king, and the local cinema on my way. It takes me a while to find the hotel entrance, almost entering the seedy looking alleyway on my quest. After seeing a multitude of tall beautiful Japanese boys and girls in school uniforms, my mood has brightened quite a bit though, and once I find the elevator door, press the button for the third floor, and being a rude foreigner, enter the elevator before I allow an elder man to enter before me. I scold myself for this in the elevator, and try to remember house and culture rules. Removing my shoes at the entrance, I proceed to check in and am a key and instructions on how to open the door.
C28 and turn to the left. I’m savvy enough that despite there being three Japanese woman ahead of me, I am the only one capable of opening the door for them. I find my room easily enough, then find the locker room, move my stuff, and discover inside the pair of pajamas I hoped id find-except they are a size too small for someone like me, leaving the pants feeling tight in strange places. But hey, what can you do. Later on, a visitor from New Zealand finds her own to be too small and discovers that you can exchange them for a bigger size. I’m not too bothered by it though, so I stay in the small pair and head for the showers.
The bathroom turns out to be everything I hoped it would be-complete with girly facial washes of the Japanese kind, showers stacked with Shiseido bath goods, everything but a loofa. It feels like the best college dorm ever, honestly. The capsule room I’ve got is on the ground level, which is fine because I’m short, and I wonder if they knew that. There’s only one plug however, but thankfully, I’ve had the brains to bring a long a multi-charger. The converter turns out to be completely in necessary so i guess well put it in the big bag and save it for a someday trip to Europe. The shower door has a notice to please not bleach or dye y our hair, confirming my fears about what a trick it’s going to be to wash my hair in their shower without leaving a trace of that damn red dye. To be fair though, my hair has been dyed already and I will not have dyed it on the premises, simply washed it. The nozzle is small enough to make me think that if only I could direct its attention to only my hair, I might get away with doing a somewhat clean job-if only there was a visible drain spot on the floor to aim all the red towards. I could loofa it all to death, but that involves a trip to forever 21 tomorrow, so I indulge in body washes, and leave it all for later. Right now, it’s just me and the nozzle, and perfectly warm water, taking the troubles of travel away.
I’m dying to try out the rest of the bathroom, all the girly gadgetry, but it has become filled with other visitors, which makes it too intimidating, so I move on.
ii wish I had painted and cut my nails beforehand like I said I would, but it’s too late so I hide my feet and myself from world view and retreat to my room to write it all out before going to bed, thinking of how the toilet in the girls powder room, had a noise machine to drown out the sounds of peeing.
A message to Karla at 5:21 pm
I know its super late (or early) there but just saw your message. The internet connection comes and goes. Luckily, I’ve been able to get around using my wits and maps I happen to come across along the way. The internet isn’t that bad anyway. I just have to restart it now and then. I guess if I don’t use it, it just decides to take a nap lol
I was more productive today than I meant to be. After i woke up, i managed to stay in the hotel until around 8pm. the hotel has this rule that we have to vacate from 10-4 so they can clean and stuff and reassign us rooms. So I wanted to leave later, but I woke up too early to wait for that kind of stuff. So I left. I’m trying not to eat recognizable foods-KFC, McDonalds, Burger King, Baskin Robbins, Dunkin Donuts, etc. so instead I did it like a local and grabbed something from the local mart place. I meant to familiarize myself with the place where I’m staying today-cause it’s a shopping/tourist/national garden place so I have a day devoted to it, but I found it really easy to go to Shibuya instead so I used my first ever Tokyo subway train. Easy peasy. Before I knew it, I was away from Shibuya crossing, and in Harajuku street. It drizzled a bit but no real, actual rain, just a lot of umbrellas. Apparently tomorrow is Sachiko’s anniversary, so I may or may not return. I guess I have to anyway because tomorrow is also the Buddha’s day, and I plan on spending that at the Meiji shrine which is only a bit away from Harajuku street. All that, and it wasn’t even 2pm yet when I returned to Shinjuku, mainly because my back was hurting like crazy from carrying the backpack. And then there was the food part. And the part where after the food, I could hardly get back on my feet because they hurt so bad from walking. So it’s 5pm and I’m back at my hotel. which makes me feel both productive and unproductive because there is still a lot of day left, so I could wander around for another couple hours-but my feet tell me that’s probably not a good idea.
I was more productive today than I meant to be. After i woke up, i managed to stay in the hotel until around 8pm. the hotel has this rule that we have to vacate from 10-4 so they can clean and stuff and reassign us rooms. So I wanted to leave later, but I woke up too early to wait for that kind of stuff. So I left. I’m trying not to eat recognizable foods-KFC, McDonalds, Burger King, Baskin Robbins, Dunkin Donuts, etc. so instead I did it like a local and grabbed something from the local mart place. I meant to familiarize myself with the place where I’m staying today-cause it’s a shopping/tourist/national garden place so I have a day devoted to it, but I found it really easy to go to Shibuya instead so I used my first ever Tokyo subway train. Easy peasy. Before I knew it, I was away from Shibuya crossing, and in Harajuku street. It drizzled a bit but no real, actual rain, just a lot of umbrellas. Apparently tomorrow is Sachiko’s anniversary, so I may or may not return. I guess I have to anyway because tomorrow is also the Buddha’s day, and I plan on spending that at the Meiji shrine which is only a bit away from Harajuku street. All that, and it wasn’t even 2pm yet when I returned to Shinjuku, mainly because my back was hurting like crazy from carrying the backpack. And then there was the food part. And the part where after the food, I could hardly get back on my feet because they hurt so bad from walking. So it’s 5pm and I’m back at my hotel. which makes me feel both productive and unproductive because there is still a lot of day left, so I could wander around for another couple hours-but my feet tell me that’s probably not a good idea.
Day One :Shibuya
5:25 pm, April 7, first day in Tokyo official)
I woke up at 5am. That’s a lie. I woke up at 4am. I forced myself to sleep till 5am. I went to sleep around 1030 so 5am seemed fair. Then I justified it by telling myself that 5am would be the perfect time to avoid the shower rush in any case. At least, according to the sign on the girl’s room door, there’s a shower rush. I have yet to see any personal evidence of it. I got up at 5am. My hair was matted and quite square-like, the result of a lack of pillows in my capsule room. A total of one pillow when this girl is used to having at least 6 at all times. Yeah, that’s no fun. This capsule hotel seems teeming with touristy Americans. (and New Zealanders) the lounge room alone is a fifty fifty split, if not sixty forty. After checking that I did not destroy anything in my sleep, I grabbed my things and headed to the washroom, suspecting no one else would be up yet. By this time, I’ve been reassigned a room-that’s the way it works here. Each day is a different locker and a different room. I am aware enough of room placements now that I am able to miss the one I had last night-in such a nice remote location. Whereas now my capsule is smack dab in tourist central. At the very least, it’s close to the showers.
While in the washroom, I debated whether or not to take the opportunity to wash my hair. I went into the stall, I went back out. I went in and found the shower drain, making a mental note to direct my rinsed hair dye towards it, then went back out. Girls were waking up and I observed them out of the corner of my eye, taking notes on the order in which they used all the girly materials provided to us by the hotel. Emulsion, face soap, cleansing oil, body lotion, you name it. Then I proceeded to use them all in random order, since let’s face, it, I am me, and me is clueless. after doing a somewhat morning routine and putting on what I now think may have been too much lipstick, I got dressed and left the hotel in search for breakfast.
I am in Tokyo for work, as an artist, as a documentarian, as a researcher. And that means that no matter how much I may want it, I cannot allow myself to eat American food.
That would be a shame, don’t you think?
Come to Tokyo, eat McDonalds.
It’s just anticlimactic.
Unless McDonalds comes out with a Tokyo-specific menu.
On my way, I popped in and out of the shops that were already awake. Family marts, family marts everywhere-the equivalent of American 7-elevens (of which there are also a handful here). Except though, because this is Tokyo after all, family marts are equipped with varieties of Japanese breads and teas, things not offered where I’m from. I settle to buy a break and a yogurt drink, each at 120Y a piece, and head on my way, delighted to see a hot water machine by the door and a Japanese boy using it to prepare his ramen. Japanese boys, Japanese boys everywhere. I have never more lamented the shortage of Japanese boys in America.
Once I returned to my room, fed, I grabbed my coat-which I had left behind thinking it might be humid again today, and headed outdoors, planning to use my day to explore the city of Shinjuku, familiarizing myself with it, and Shinjuku Gyoen garden next door. A block away though, and I realized how close Shinjuku station really was. Opening up my handy little subway map, I typed in the city closest to me-which I had guessed by the order of stops the Narita express had made last night. Shibuya, six minutes away, a total of one stop on the Fukutoshin line. Bracing myself, i made note of the entrance street, and descended into the subway tunnels.
I woke up at 5am. That’s a lie. I woke up at 4am. I forced myself to sleep till 5am. I went to sleep around 1030 so 5am seemed fair. Then I justified it by telling myself that 5am would be the perfect time to avoid the shower rush in any case. At least, according to the sign on the girl’s room door, there’s a shower rush. I have yet to see any personal evidence of it. I got up at 5am. My hair was matted and quite square-like, the result of a lack of pillows in my capsule room. A total of one pillow when this girl is used to having at least 6 at all times. Yeah, that’s no fun. This capsule hotel seems teeming with touristy Americans. (and New Zealanders) the lounge room alone is a fifty fifty split, if not sixty forty. After checking that I did not destroy anything in my sleep, I grabbed my things and headed to the washroom, suspecting no one else would be up yet. By this time, I’ve been reassigned a room-that’s the way it works here. Each day is a different locker and a different room. I am aware enough of room placements now that I am able to miss the one I had last night-in such a nice remote location. Whereas now my capsule is smack dab in tourist central. At the very least, it’s close to the showers.
While in the washroom, I debated whether or not to take the opportunity to wash my hair. I went into the stall, I went back out. I went in and found the shower drain, making a mental note to direct my rinsed hair dye towards it, then went back out. Girls were waking up and I observed them out of the corner of my eye, taking notes on the order in which they used all the girly materials provided to us by the hotel. Emulsion, face soap, cleansing oil, body lotion, you name it. Then I proceeded to use them all in random order, since let’s face, it, I am me, and me is clueless. after doing a somewhat morning routine and putting on what I now think may have been too much lipstick, I got dressed and left the hotel in search for breakfast.
I am in Tokyo for work, as an artist, as a documentarian, as a researcher. And that means that no matter how much I may want it, I cannot allow myself to eat American food.
That would be a shame, don’t you think?
Come to Tokyo, eat McDonalds.
It’s just anticlimactic.
Unless McDonalds comes out with a Tokyo-specific menu.
On my way, I popped in and out of the shops that were already awake. Family marts, family marts everywhere-the equivalent of American 7-elevens (of which there are also a handful here). Except though, because this is Tokyo after all, family marts are equipped with varieties of Japanese breads and teas, things not offered where I’m from. I settle to buy a break and a yogurt drink, each at 120Y a piece, and head on my way, delighted to see a hot water machine by the door and a Japanese boy using it to prepare his ramen. Japanese boys, Japanese boys everywhere. I have never more lamented the shortage of Japanese boys in America.
Once I returned to my room, fed, I grabbed my coat-which I had left behind thinking it might be humid again today, and headed outdoors, planning to use my day to explore the city of Shinjuku, familiarizing myself with it, and Shinjuku Gyoen garden next door. A block away though, and I realized how close Shinjuku station really was. Opening up my handy little subway map, I typed in the city closest to me-which I had guessed by the order of stops the Narita express had made last night. Shibuya, six minutes away, a total of one stop on the Fukutoshin line. Bracing myself, i made note of the entrance street, and descended into the subway tunnels.
English.
If there’s one thing I love about japan, it’s the fact that there is English everywhere. And everyone seems perfectly polite. And approachable. It makes me worried that Seoul might not be at all as great. It really, really does.
The subway was only 170 which translated to us dollars, is less than or equal to about a dollar fifty. Beat that Chicago.
When I arrive, I am at the world famous Shibuya crossing. One stop away, 6 minutes in total. The subway is crowded, but I expected it to be that way. There is an officer at the doors, which I read online was meant to push people in, but really just watches out to make sure everything goes fine and it does-everyone goes in smoothly. Perhaps it’s because I’ve spent my college years being crammed into small elevators with multitudes of students all late for class, but to me, the subway really doesn’t seem quite bad. Not bad at all. Also, it’s a girl just can’t complain when she’s surrounded by cute Japanese boys. Shibuya station is the site where Hachiko’s statue lies but save for the one at tower records, which celebrates its 20th anniversary, I don't spot the actual Hachiko on my entire trip. It’s still barely around 9pm, if not actually quite some minutes before it, so the city isn’t awake-much like the shops at state street back home. For some reason or the other, 10pm just seems to be the universal wake-up time. I walk Shibuya crossing anyway, making sure to photograph the throngs of umbrella-wielding Japanese people making their way left and right and through shibuya crossing. Not as crowded as the internet made it seem, and the stations are not at all confusing as of yet. The internet just serves to freak one out, I think.
It is 6:13 now, and though I made a note to return to my hotel before 6 to avoid the freakiness of last night's deep black night, the sky today remains quite clear-only a dim blue. I think however, it is shower time.
7:24 and I have successfully managed to shower without making the bathroom look like Carrie. now I’m back in my room making sure things get charged and debating whether or not to dry my hair and if I’m capable of finding my accommodation without Wi-Fi in South Korea, late at night. It’s all very iffy sounding. I doubt i'll want to be anywhere but home in a week.
Sometime down my second Shibuya street, I managed to call my uncle, and then my mother, who sounded more excited than worried at this point, and my father, who at the end of the conversation, sound light and happy, and both began to laugh about the souvenirs they wanted me to bring home, and I felt reassured that everything would be okay with them. The worst part is leaving really, once you break one barrier with parents, the rest of it all seems commonplace. It becomes the norm. Cite: the first time I cut my hair: follow: the first time I dyed my hair. Now I do both things all the time. Travel is like that too. First you have to show them it’s not that scary, it’s not that bad. Then it’s all a Monday morning thing. I kept this in mind while I looked for a dry place to sit, wanting to make sure my feet would last past twelve o clock-the consequences of getting up so early. It wasn’t that it was raining really. Everyone had umbrellas out the entire day, but at the most, it was really a drizzle. I watched two crows gnaw at the insides of a fallen comrade, stretching the pink meat like gum, and tried not to be too disgusted. Japan has a lot of crows, and after watching this display, I lose my appreciation for them... they're the equivalent to vultures now, cannibals, and a little too close for comfort, I move away another block to where the cell reception gets a little worse. You’ve got to appreciate google hangouts for its free calls to the US. You really do. As I wait to head into shibuya 109, I am 15 minutes away, but get distracted. I head down another side street and discover the wonders of the Shibuya Disney store-a store I only head into due to my sister's remarks about how I should bring her something back from there-which is filled with wondrous entrance ways and goods too kawaii to exist in America. It’s a must-see for yourself for sure. Tower Records is looming ahead of me, and not knowing what it is, I enter, delighted to find a slew of CDs, K-pop goods, books, and merchandise. Only later do I find out that this is the largest of its kind in japan. while I’m there, I manage to pick up some maps I find along the way, and discover that I’m not too far from Takeshita-Dori street, or cat street, Harajuku-so off I go, groaning all the way, and wishing there weren’t so many hills. I’m quite sure I turn around and make circles along the way, but I do so in order to ensure I don’t get lost.
Harajuku street turns out to be nothing but a few shops thrown together. The real Harajuku street is Takeshita-Dori, to its left. The entrance from Shibuya is marked with an archway of metal flowers, and inside there is what looks to be like an alleyway filled with many small shops. Of course, because McDonalds has to be the buzzkill at every fest, there is also one here too. But there is an artfully decorated wall which is some of the first street art I’ve encountered so far, so I have faith and keep moving. It is the beginning of the week and a dreary day, so I don’t expect too many Harajuku kids out in the open today. I manage to catch some school uniforms with my camera, and am aware that I look like a complete perv while doing so. Takeshita Dori's clothes are some of what I expected to find: cute little selections in too-small sizes that make me wonder if shopping in Tokyo is ever going to become a realistic sort of thing for a not-small person like myself. I pick up some clothes and wonder if Karla could fit in it, and then remind myself that she is actually not that much thinner than me. The streets of Takeshita Dori, along with clothes, are dotted with dessert shops selling parfaits and crepes filled to the brim with goodies. If I weren’t so worried about my weight, I might indulge in them. Perhaps one day I will, b before I leave. However, with my luck, when I finally decide to I might not get the chance. at the end of Takeshita-Dori street, or the beginning technically speaking, is the famous entrance way with the colored metallic flowers. Across from it I can see towering greens, and what I assume to be the entrance to the Meiji shrine. Its intimidating, let me tell you, looking at something so large and feeling so small in comparison. I think about entering the forest-like wall but remember how bad my feet hurt and how I must get home before sundown, and begin to resent myself for getting up so early and getting tired so soon. Sadly, I make my way back to Shibuya crossing, and into the subway, too tired to return to shop at Shibuya 109.
If there’s one thing I love about japan, it’s the fact that there is English everywhere. And everyone seems perfectly polite. And approachable. It makes me worried that Seoul might not be at all as great. It really, really does.
The subway was only 170 which translated to us dollars, is less than or equal to about a dollar fifty. Beat that Chicago.
When I arrive, I am at the world famous Shibuya crossing. One stop away, 6 minutes in total. The subway is crowded, but I expected it to be that way. There is an officer at the doors, which I read online was meant to push people in, but really just watches out to make sure everything goes fine and it does-everyone goes in smoothly. Perhaps it’s because I’ve spent my college years being crammed into small elevators with multitudes of students all late for class, but to me, the subway really doesn’t seem quite bad. Not bad at all. Also, it’s a girl just can’t complain when she’s surrounded by cute Japanese boys. Shibuya station is the site where Hachiko’s statue lies but save for the one at tower records, which celebrates its 20th anniversary, I don't spot the actual Hachiko on my entire trip. It’s still barely around 9pm, if not actually quite some minutes before it, so the city isn’t awake-much like the shops at state street back home. For some reason or the other, 10pm just seems to be the universal wake-up time. I walk Shibuya crossing anyway, making sure to photograph the throngs of umbrella-wielding Japanese people making their way left and right and through shibuya crossing. Not as crowded as the internet made it seem, and the stations are not at all confusing as of yet. The internet just serves to freak one out, I think.
It is 6:13 now, and though I made a note to return to my hotel before 6 to avoid the freakiness of last night's deep black night, the sky today remains quite clear-only a dim blue. I think however, it is shower time.
7:24 and I have successfully managed to shower without making the bathroom look like Carrie. now I’m back in my room making sure things get charged and debating whether or not to dry my hair and if I’m capable of finding my accommodation without Wi-Fi in South Korea, late at night. It’s all very iffy sounding. I doubt i'll want to be anywhere but home in a week.
Sometime down my second Shibuya street, I managed to call my uncle, and then my mother, who sounded more excited than worried at this point, and my father, who at the end of the conversation, sound light and happy, and both began to laugh about the souvenirs they wanted me to bring home, and I felt reassured that everything would be okay with them. The worst part is leaving really, once you break one barrier with parents, the rest of it all seems commonplace. It becomes the norm. Cite: the first time I cut my hair: follow: the first time I dyed my hair. Now I do both things all the time. Travel is like that too. First you have to show them it’s not that scary, it’s not that bad. Then it’s all a Monday morning thing. I kept this in mind while I looked for a dry place to sit, wanting to make sure my feet would last past twelve o clock-the consequences of getting up so early. It wasn’t that it was raining really. Everyone had umbrellas out the entire day, but at the most, it was really a drizzle. I watched two crows gnaw at the insides of a fallen comrade, stretching the pink meat like gum, and tried not to be too disgusted. Japan has a lot of crows, and after watching this display, I lose my appreciation for them... they're the equivalent to vultures now, cannibals, and a little too close for comfort, I move away another block to where the cell reception gets a little worse. You’ve got to appreciate google hangouts for its free calls to the US. You really do. As I wait to head into shibuya 109, I am 15 minutes away, but get distracted. I head down another side street and discover the wonders of the Shibuya Disney store-a store I only head into due to my sister's remarks about how I should bring her something back from there-which is filled with wondrous entrance ways and goods too kawaii to exist in America. It’s a must-see for yourself for sure. Tower Records is looming ahead of me, and not knowing what it is, I enter, delighted to find a slew of CDs, K-pop goods, books, and merchandise. Only later do I find out that this is the largest of its kind in japan. while I’m there, I manage to pick up some maps I find along the way, and discover that I’m not too far from Takeshita-Dori street, or cat street, Harajuku-so off I go, groaning all the way, and wishing there weren’t so many hills. I’m quite sure I turn around and make circles along the way, but I do so in order to ensure I don’t get lost.
Harajuku street turns out to be nothing but a few shops thrown together. The real Harajuku street is Takeshita-Dori, to its left. The entrance from Shibuya is marked with an archway of metal flowers, and inside there is what looks to be like an alleyway filled with many small shops. Of course, because McDonalds has to be the buzzkill at every fest, there is also one here too. But there is an artfully decorated wall which is some of the first street art I’ve encountered so far, so I have faith and keep moving. It is the beginning of the week and a dreary day, so I don’t expect too many Harajuku kids out in the open today. I manage to catch some school uniforms with my camera, and am aware that I look like a complete perv while doing so. Takeshita Dori's clothes are some of what I expected to find: cute little selections in too-small sizes that make me wonder if shopping in Tokyo is ever going to become a realistic sort of thing for a not-small person like myself. I pick up some clothes and wonder if Karla could fit in it, and then remind myself that she is actually not that much thinner than me. The streets of Takeshita Dori, along with clothes, are dotted with dessert shops selling parfaits and crepes filled to the brim with goodies. If I weren’t so worried about my weight, I might indulge in them. Perhaps one day I will, b before I leave. However, with my luck, when I finally decide to I might not get the chance. at the end of Takeshita-Dori street, or the beginning technically speaking, is the famous entrance way with the colored metallic flowers. Across from it I can see towering greens, and what I assume to be the entrance to the Meiji shrine. Its intimidating, let me tell you, looking at something so large and feeling so small in comparison. I think about entering the forest-like wall but remember how bad my feet hurt and how I must get home before sundown, and begin to resent myself for getting up so early and getting tired so soon. Sadly, I make my way back to Shibuya crossing, and into the subway, too tired to return to shop at Shibuya 109.
A foodie, let me tell you, I am not. But I’m trying my hardest here. So when it comes to lunch, after looking close by the hotel, the best place I can find is a little spot down a couple blocks, hidden in between other shops, with noodles for around 5yen. When I order off the lunch menu, pointing at something that looks like fried chicken (I have yet to find a substantial meat platter under 10yen with no noodles involved), the girl at the counter gestures for me to pick a noodle to go along with it. Out of all the options, the most recognizable to me is the cold Udon noodles, which I had been researching when I was back home, trying to find a noodle which I did not know the name of and still don’t. The Udon noodles aren’t the best. They are white and thick and slip easily between my now-unlipsticked lips (most of the color gone with a few dabs of my napkin to avoid painting my water glass as I sip). I try to remind myself not to stick the chopsticks into my noodles or set them across, and try to keep myself from biting the long strands of noodles apart. My other bowl is filled with a total of two pieces of fried chicken, rice, and a slightly uncooked egg. The purpose of the egg in Japanese dishes, I have yet to discover. So far, it’s just a gooey mess that I cannot avoid since every time I try to scoop it out, I just end up breaking the thin outer layer so that the yellow spills into the waiting layers of food. It’s not bad but it’s not good, or I lack the taste for it. Its almost 6 so I pack up my things and head back home.
Yes, home. Because ever since I got here, that’s the way I think of my hotel.
Yes, home. Because ever since I got here, that’s the way I think of my hotel.
Day Two: Akihabara
9:54 pm, April 8.
I should be ashamed. I fell asleep at 8pm last night, only waking up to switch the items that were charging around before knocking out again. That’s what travel does to you.
When I woke up, it was again too early to be awake and I was determined not to walk out of the hotel too early again, like the day before. So I waited and planned out the day instead, choosing where I would go to next and trying my best to come up with some sort of itinerary. The days were speeding by after all, so I had to find a way to make the most of it.
At around 7 o clock, I convinced myself that I had waited long enough and should at least pop out of my room to get some breakfast. Again, breakfast would have to be genuine-and though last night mister donut seemed to be a good option for some munching, this morning it just didn’t seem authentic enough. So off I went again to the Lawson store to get some bread and milk tea-because milk tea, at least, I knew I’d never tried before. When I walked outside, I realized how little id considered a possible change in temperature. Here I had packed a variety of dresses and one fleece lined hoodie and expected that to be enough. Now it was cold and raining outside and I had stepped out without even my coat. When I got to the Lawson store, only one block away, picking out bread turned out to be a more complex task than I had first imagined. The family mart down a couple blocks had a better selection, but they were too far, and my feet were still too sore from yesterdays' adventures to try to begin a breakfast quest, so I forced myself to focus on choosing from what was available at Lawson. after rounding a corner, I settled on an economically priced package of three bread rolls interwoven with ham and what I presumed to be cheese, which wasn’t Japanese or authentic, but was 100 yen and easily made up for with the purchase of what I guessed to be a Mochi ball, for about twice the first's value. when I got upstairs and into the lounge, the only shared space in the hotel for men and women, I discovered three things: there was a hot water dispenser there for ramen noodles that could, technically, be used to make green tea if I so desired, two: I do not, in fact like milk tea and so spent the entirety of my time holding my breath as I gulped it in order to not taste the strangeness of the flavor, and three: the Mochi I had picked up was of the bean-paste variety-which made it all the more worth it.
After idling for about an hour in the lounge and up the stairs, i checked out of my room, convincing myself that the rest of the time could be easily killed with investigating into what yesterday, had seemed to be an entrance for a local shrine nearby.
Only a couple steps away, I came to the entrance, where person after person ducked in, making it feel normal and safe, instead of forbidden. Today was the Buddha’s birthday and as I walked up to the shrine, I could tell that it was not forgotten, as visitor after visitor walked up to the stone steps, bowing and clapping, to say a silent prayer. Or a congratulations, since I’m not sure what exactly you say to a shrine on the Buddha’s day. As I grew closer to saying my own prayer, a new group of visitors came by, and I hid away, because there’s something embarrassing about visiting a shrine and not knowing the exact procedures for everything. Bow twice. Clap twice... bow once or twice...that third step i was unclear on and what came after and that was enough to deter me from trying at all when in the presence of an audience. Coming to the exit of the small shrine, I looked to see where the small passage had landed me-and found myself exactly at the perfect spot for my next adventure. The entranceway to the Shinjuku line and the train to Akihabara.
I should be ashamed. I fell asleep at 8pm last night, only waking up to switch the items that were charging around before knocking out again. That’s what travel does to you.
When I woke up, it was again too early to be awake and I was determined not to walk out of the hotel too early again, like the day before. So I waited and planned out the day instead, choosing where I would go to next and trying my best to come up with some sort of itinerary. The days were speeding by after all, so I had to find a way to make the most of it.
At around 7 o clock, I convinced myself that I had waited long enough and should at least pop out of my room to get some breakfast. Again, breakfast would have to be genuine-and though last night mister donut seemed to be a good option for some munching, this morning it just didn’t seem authentic enough. So off I went again to the Lawson store to get some bread and milk tea-because milk tea, at least, I knew I’d never tried before. When I walked outside, I realized how little id considered a possible change in temperature. Here I had packed a variety of dresses and one fleece lined hoodie and expected that to be enough. Now it was cold and raining outside and I had stepped out without even my coat. When I got to the Lawson store, only one block away, picking out bread turned out to be a more complex task than I had first imagined. The family mart down a couple blocks had a better selection, but they were too far, and my feet were still too sore from yesterdays' adventures to try to begin a breakfast quest, so I forced myself to focus on choosing from what was available at Lawson. after rounding a corner, I settled on an economically priced package of three bread rolls interwoven with ham and what I presumed to be cheese, which wasn’t Japanese or authentic, but was 100 yen and easily made up for with the purchase of what I guessed to be a Mochi ball, for about twice the first's value. when I got upstairs and into the lounge, the only shared space in the hotel for men and women, I discovered three things: there was a hot water dispenser there for ramen noodles that could, technically, be used to make green tea if I so desired, two: I do not, in fact like milk tea and so spent the entirety of my time holding my breath as I gulped it in order to not taste the strangeness of the flavor, and three: the Mochi I had picked up was of the bean-paste variety-which made it all the more worth it.
After idling for about an hour in the lounge and up the stairs, i checked out of my room, convincing myself that the rest of the time could be easily killed with investigating into what yesterday, had seemed to be an entrance for a local shrine nearby.
Only a couple steps away, I came to the entrance, where person after person ducked in, making it feel normal and safe, instead of forbidden. Today was the Buddha’s birthday and as I walked up to the shrine, I could tell that it was not forgotten, as visitor after visitor walked up to the stone steps, bowing and clapping, to say a silent prayer. Or a congratulations, since I’m not sure what exactly you say to a shrine on the Buddha’s day. As I grew closer to saying my own prayer, a new group of visitors came by, and I hid away, because there’s something embarrassing about visiting a shrine and not knowing the exact procedures for everything. Bow twice. Clap twice... bow once or twice...that third step i was unclear on and what came after and that was enough to deter me from trying at all when in the presence of an audience. Coming to the exit of the small shrine, I looked to see where the small passage had landed me-and found myself exactly at the perfect spot for my next adventure. The entranceway to the Shinjuku line and the train to Akihabara.
Taking the train yesterday was easy, and the same turns out to be true today. When I board the Shinjuku line, the train is decently un-packed with people and I can sit down on one of the long sofa seats that line the train walls for all six or seven stops. when I get off the train, my google maps assures me that Akihabara is six minutes away on foot, but when I get there I see no signs of the electric city. After some Pinterest searching, I decide to give google maps a more specific location to shoot for, like the Tokyo anime Centre. in a few minutes I find myself walking towards the lit up buildings plastered with posters of anime girls, many in precarious looking poses along with groups of girls advertising maid cafes. The first shop I come to has an entrance way filled with little capsule machines. I look, but none has the Attack on Titan characters I saw in a capsule machine in Shibuya so I move on. Next to it there’s a massive arcade, the first floor filled with 'of catchers' with large stuffed cutesy animals as the prize. I wonder for a second if I should join in so I can feel like a regular person for a second, or if it’s not worth it. Let’s face it, I’ve never been good at that sort of thing anyway. When I was very little I saved thirty dollars in coins, went to Walmart, and lost it all on those damn machines. Never again. As I visit manga store after manga store, it becomes apparent to me that the girls in the animes I watch are often corrupted for the pleasure of dirty dudes. As I walk into the store, I feel as if my presence silently shames them as they peruse through the big-breasted, come-hither looks and laugh to myself. From then on, I skip most of the manga stores on the way, only popping in now and then to an arcade or anime shop. Perhaps it is because of my obsession with Kdramas, that now I begin to see how much i have neglected my once precious anime. on the bright side, it seems that the few anime I have managed to watch in the time after I discovered Kdramas, has become really popular in Tokyo-specifically the teen-girl led LOVE LIVE which has action figures and merchandise in practically every shop I head into, with large advertisements on the street buildings telling of their soon to be released movie, which I must admit, I am interested in seeing.
I take the fact that the shows I’ve watched have become popular as a sign that I have good taste, and move on. After going across and around Akihabara, I come to club Sega and stop at each floor until I come across a section of small photo boots, with the sign 'women only' and a rack of schoolgirl costumes near a fitting room door. Who could resist that?
Going inside, I remove my clothing, which is all somehow still dry, and my boots, feeling sorry for their wet stink, letting my wet-socked feet touch the toweled floor, and slipping on the schoolgirl skirt. There’s a sign near the fitting room curtain that says that an attendant may open the curtain from time to time to check to make sure everything’s okay, so to not be alarmed by it. I take caution and slip on one large piece at a time, careful not to be caught naked. The schoolgirl outfit turns out to be too large, the whiteness of it making my less attractive areas even less attractive. The other costumes that bear no white in them, don’t come in my size, so I decide to go without, attempt to brush my hair, but fail due to the knotted wetness, and head into the most promising photo booth that isn’t already occupied, dubbed 'fashionista'.
The screen tells me to pick whether I want a group shop, or a twin shot, and I want a single shot, but it doesn’t think such a thing exists so I pick twin, and move to the next step, which is picking poses. After picking some of the least-likely-for me to look weird in poses, it asks me what kind of full body shot I want, and I pick some that make it less likely for me to look, well, fat.
Then I’m asked to step inside the photo booth, the walls of which I find are painted the perfect color for green--screening. In front of me there is a perfect photo studio, with umbrellas all around and a large camera in the center on a moving machine to allow it to take shots from above and below. The photo screen shows me the pose I am to do and counts down. I expect it to take a silent shot at the third count, and release the pose then, but am surprised when it counts for a second longer, then releases a couple of flashes from the camera, by then my pose long gone. So goes the rest of the poses, myself trying to adjust a pose that was meant for two people, to make sense for just one and trying not to look too silly in the process. When it’s over, it tells me to move to the left side of the booth for decoration but once I get outside, I don’t see anything and the pictures haven’t printed so I ask the attendant for help, and she shows me another small section hidden behind a curtain. The decoration part consists of adding stickers and cute sayings and downloading the photo, which I am unable to do because it has no option for a Gmail account and all other options are Japanese-specific. The pictures are sent to print, and when I receive them I am at startled and amused to see that my eyes look as big as Bugsy the hamster's in bedtime stories. It’s funny, but my skin is clear looking, I don’t look fat, and if I tried again, they might look even better so I do.
After spending too much time in Club Sega (where the photo booth was), I decide to once again try to have a little more direction. I look for my Pinterest list of specific attractions I ought to be seeing and see Gundam Cafe, AK48, Tokyo Anime Center, and Don Quixote. I’ve been looking forward to visiting a host cafe, but all I’ve seen so far is a maid cafe, but feel intimidated so far to try it, due to the heavy male-per-presence in the town. After seeing a large sexy massage poster outside a shop window on the walk to Akihabara, the perv meter only goes up up and up. I duck into a shop after embarrassing myself and trying to sneak a picture of a girl in a maid costume handing out flyers to a cafe, and end up in AK48, three floors of which, is occupied by Don Quijote. two birds, one stone. the internet tells me that Don Quijote is a random goods kind of shop and it is. The store is something of a costume shop/tourist goods shop/ convenience store/anime goods store. it is the first place I’ve seen decent and decently priced touristy souvenirs to bring back home, so I grab a few keychains, pay, and keep going, a few floors up to where I find a treasure trove of cosplay (a lot of which is for men dressing as women) and am forced to decide whether or not it is worth 60 dollars to buy a schoolgirl costume or maid outfit. (I don’t) but I head into the maid cafe at the other end of the shop, and wait in line.
I take the fact that the shows I’ve watched have become popular as a sign that I have good taste, and move on. After going across and around Akihabara, I come to club Sega and stop at each floor until I come across a section of small photo boots, with the sign 'women only' and a rack of schoolgirl costumes near a fitting room door. Who could resist that?
Going inside, I remove my clothing, which is all somehow still dry, and my boots, feeling sorry for their wet stink, letting my wet-socked feet touch the toweled floor, and slipping on the schoolgirl skirt. There’s a sign near the fitting room curtain that says that an attendant may open the curtain from time to time to check to make sure everything’s okay, so to not be alarmed by it. I take caution and slip on one large piece at a time, careful not to be caught naked. The schoolgirl outfit turns out to be too large, the whiteness of it making my less attractive areas even less attractive. The other costumes that bear no white in them, don’t come in my size, so I decide to go without, attempt to brush my hair, but fail due to the knotted wetness, and head into the most promising photo booth that isn’t already occupied, dubbed 'fashionista'.
The screen tells me to pick whether I want a group shop, or a twin shot, and I want a single shot, but it doesn’t think such a thing exists so I pick twin, and move to the next step, which is picking poses. After picking some of the least-likely-for me to look weird in poses, it asks me what kind of full body shot I want, and I pick some that make it less likely for me to look, well, fat.
Then I’m asked to step inside the photo booth, the walls of which I find are painted the perfect color for green--screening. In front of me there is a perfect photo studio, with umbrellas all around and a large camera in the center on a moving machine to allow it to take shots from above and below. The photo screen shows me the pose I am to do and counts down. I expect it to take a silent shot at the third count, and release the pose then, but am surprised when it counts for a second longer, then releases a couple of flashes from the camera, by then my pose long gone. So goes the rest of the poses, myself trying to adjust a pose that was meant for two people, to make sense for just one and trying not to look too silly in the process. When it’s over, it tells me to move to the left side of the booth for decoration but once I get outside, I don’t see anything and the pictures haven’t printed so I ask the attendant for help, and she shows me another small section hidden behind a curtain. The decoration part consists of adding stickers and cute sayings and downloading the photo, which I am unable to do because it has no option for a Gmail account and all other options are Japanese-specific. The pictures are sent to print, and when I receive them I am at startled and amused to see that my eyes look as big as Bugsy the hamster's in bedtime stories. It’s funny, but my skin is clear looking, I don’t look fat, and if I tried again, they might look even better so I do.
After spending too much time in Club Sega (where the photo booth was), I decide to once again try to have a little more direction. I look for my Pinterest list of specific attractions I ought to be seeing and see Gundam Cafe, AK48, Tokyo Anime Center, and Don Quixote. I’ve been looking forward to visiting a host cafe, but all I’ve seen so far is a maid cafe, but feel intimidated so far to try it, due to the heavy male-per-presence in the town. After seeing a large sexy massage poster outside a shop window on the walk to Akihabara, the perv meter only goes up up and up. I duck into a shop after embarrassing myself and trying to sneak a picture of a girl in a maid costume handing out flyers to a cafe, and end up in AK48, three floors of which, is occupied by Don Quijote. two birds, one stone. the internet tells me that Don Quijote is a random goods kind of shop and it is. The store is something of a costume shop/tourist goods shop/ convenience store/anime goods store. it is the first place I’ve seen decent and decently priced touristy souvenirs to bring back home, so I grab a few keychains, pay, and keep going, a few floors up to where I find a treasure trove of cosplay (a lot of which is for men dressing as women) and am forced to decide whether or not it is worth 60 dollars to buy a schoolgirl costume or maid outfit. (I don’t) but I head into the maid cafe at the other end of the shop, and wait in line.
To enter a maid cafe you are charged an entrance fee of 5 or 6 dollars, in addition to your choice of menu set items. in the at home maid cafe, the menu items ranged from your favorite drink, a dessert, a lunch menu and drink, or all three, the drink being the least expensive at a modest total of 20 dollars for your entrance and drink. Along with the menu and entrance, for your visit you got to choose between playing a game with your maid, and having your picture taken with her. I chose the latter. The game, as I observed later on, involved a hungry crocodile with press able teeth, the maids had a timer and if no one had one in three minutes, then the winner would be decided by highest points or something like that.
My first sip of at home green tea made me miss home, if only for the sugar. The maid left the teapot with me, and though she was sweet and kind and polite enough to ask me about my trip, the teapot did not last through the long time I waited until the picture was taken, and I managed to leave. In the time between, friends and families were called onstage one by one to have their picture taken. The guy on my left side, an overweight Japanese boy, was brought the check twice, seemed to argue about the price once, played a game twice, ordered two drinks, and chatted up some maids. Meanwhile, the boy on my right, a thinner, lankier fellow with a face mask on that removed, revealed an acne problem, fiddled with his phone and observed the guy on my left, seemingly as bored as I was, sneaking peeks once or twice whenever the maids onstage bent in such a way that allowed the audience a peek at the frilly under clothing beneath their maid skirts and aprons. I wondered if these two were so socially awkward in their schools that this seemed the best way to gather female attention.
After three tries of unsuccessfully finding the Tokyo anime center, I give up, deciding there’s nothing really interesting about it anyway. The Gundam cafe is on my way back to the train, but instead of heading back i head away to visit the Kanda shrine, promised to be the 'geekiest temple', and wondering what exactly earned it such a title. The entrance to the Kanda shrine is hidden, mid street, between two buildings, and up a flight of stone steps leading to a large entranceway. From there, you begin to see the greens and the cherry blossoms. This is the back end of the shrine and it all looks quite like the one I visited in the morning with the exception of a number of cars parked smack dab in the middle. But still, nothing to merit the title of geeky at all.
I keep going though and follow it around, taking pictures, because there is something beautiful and untouchable, sacred, about a shrine. From a door at my side, a young girl comes out wearing a shrine robe and I follow her to the main temple, where people are heading up to say a prayer and pay their respects. Inside, I can see a man and woman dressed in fine clothing, with long robes that drag on the floor, and tall headpieces. She, bows at the altar, her head touching the wood on the floor, while he moves about inside the temple silently.
The shrine is the first I’ve seen that sell goods. Small necklaces and t-shirts lie atop a small white table, the outside of which is decorated with a poster of one of the girls of love live! Wearing her shrine-caretaker robes. Two women speak to the young girl, which is now stationed at what appears to be a shop window. Against the wall of the shop, capsule machines not unlike those found on the streets of Akihabara house tiny capsules with shrine-themed figurines. A robed girl sweeping, a small shrine, etc. etc. The geek meter starts going up. At the entrance of the shrine shop, New Year’s wooden blocks hang with wishes, but as I look closer, I notice that many are covered with images of anime characters. The geek meter raises, and hits the bar once I see the dragoon-dancing machines scattered around the shrine.
After three tries of unsuccessfully finding the Tokyo anime center, I give up, deciding there’s nothing really interesting about it anyway. The Gundam cafe is on my way back to the train, but instead of heading back i head away to visit the Kanda shrine, promised to be the 'geekiest temple', and wondering what exactly earned it such a title. The entrance to the Kanda shrine is hidden, mid street, between two buildings, and up a flight of stone steps leading to a large entranceway. From there, you begin to see the greens and the cherry blossoms. This is the back end of the shrine and it all looks quite like the one I visited in the morning with the exception of a number of cars parked smack dab in the middle. But still, nothing to merit the title of geeky at all.
I keep going though and follow it around, taking pictures, because there is something beautiful and untouchable, sacred, about a shrine. From a door at my side, a young girl comes out wearing a shrine robe and I follow her to the main temple, where people are heading up to say a prayer and pay their respects. Inside, I can see a man and woman dressed in fine clothing, with long robes that drag on the floor, and tall headpieces. She, bows at the altar, her head touching the wood on the floor, while he moves about inside the temple silently.
The shrine is the first I’ve seen that sell goods. Small necklaces and t-shirts lie atop a small white table, the outside of which is decorated with a poster of one of the girls of love live! Wearing her shrine-caretaker robes. Two women speak to the young girl, which is now stationed at what appears to be a shop window. Against the wall of the shop, capsule machines not unlike those found on the streets of Akihabara house tiny capsules with shrine-themed figurines. A robed girl sweeping, a small shrine, etc. etc. The geek meter starts going up. At the entrance of the shrine shop, New Year’s wooden blocks hang with wishes, but as I look closer, I notice that many are covered with images of anime characters. The geek meter raises, and hits the bar once I see the dragoon-dancing machines scattered around the shrine.
When I get home, it is only a little past five, and I’ve promised myself to do a good amount with my day, so I decide to locate the Alice fantasy restaurant. Down one street and up the other, the website is unclear, google is unclear, and I am unclear about what do so I settle for exploring Shinjuku for a while. Down a couple streets, past Shinjuku station, which I recognize from the night I came home, and I come to a small plaza where the street divides into that of above, ,and below, and up some steps is a store called Lumine Est, where I inevitably find myself in some minutes. Lumine Est turns out to be a mall, and a grand ole big one at that. What I have come to appreciate about malls in Tokyo is that they are not divided into separate stores the way they are in America, but rather each store gets their own small boutique-like space, only marked by the store name. Then you just keep moving around to the next one. buildings in Tokyo are built to go up up and up some more, and the malls are no exception. It’s actually quite hard not to feel like you’re missing something, because chances are that every time you walk into a store or building, there are eight more floors filled with stuff, and that kind of knowledge is just overwhelming. The fact that this is the most Tokyo-like fashion I’ve experienced yet is exciting, the thought that none of it fits my body or my budget, is saddening. Lumine Est is a nice place to walk around and lose a glove, and that’s all I do, then walk out with one hand a little less clothed. down the street another large store, with Bic camera on the sign and Uniqlo inside, catches my eye if only for the cool Disney/Snoopy/Adventures of Tintin t-shirts, the words 'tax free' (which you see often in Tokyo, as these stores offer a tax free incentive for visiting tourists on condition of seeing your passport as proof), and low prices-which is plenty to catch one's eye. As I walk through the store, I see things are actually in my size and get excited. I could shop here! Perhaps this explains why I see many other American families roaming around. My excitement only grows once I see a line of artist-themed tees at around 15 dollars each. I grab an Andy Warhol and wish that the Keith Haring tees weren’t actually tanks, or that the world-themed tees weren’t made of such thick material and had such round collars, making them riskily unattractive. I try on the Andy Warhol in a size medium-my actual size-but the material isn’t flattering on me so I head upstairs to grab some t-shirts as souvenirs for my best friend and dad back home, as boys mainly don’t have to worry about unflattering t-shirts anyway.
When I walk back out, I’ve officially spent my first substantial amount of money on souvenirs and decide to rest my pocket for a while. Satisfied, I start looking for a meal-which always seems to be a real quest in Shinjuku. Ramen, ramen everywhere.
When I walk back out, I’ve officially spent my first substantial amount of money on souvenirs and decide to rest my pocket for a while. Satisfied, I start looking for a meal-which always seems to be a real quest in Shinjuku. Ramen, ramen everywhere.
Day three: tokyo disneyland
T8:09 am, third day in Tokyo
The sun is shining. I suspected it was an okay day, with suspicion that it would still rain later on, as I looked out from the elevator windows. From the lounge though, the sun beams with such promise that it seems unlikely that rain may mar this day. My body is starting to feel somewhat like a body again which means I will most likely be out the door in a few minutes. But this sun. This sun is unexpected which makes me think that doing something outside today might not be so bad. Shinjuku Gyoen? Only if I go to Roppongi, which is already the question of the day. although I began today with the thought of going to Roppongi, seeing an art museum after so many days of shopping, arcades, and randomness, seems anticlimactic-though I know I should, if only to see the Tokyo tower, and marking the reality of this trip. On the other hand, after researching the other options left for the few days that remain of this trip, Odaiba seems a more exciting option. Malls! Leisure Land! Palette Town! An Italian Piazza! Museums! Rainbow Bridge! etc. etc. but this sun. This sun wants to go to Disneyland. Do I? I gulp down my mineral water, the first fresh and cold water I’ve had in days, which is strange for a girl that couldn’t go 20 minutes without a sip, and twirl ramen around my chopsticks, my breakfast penitence dish to make up for the burger I ate last night, wishing the Wi Fi in here worked and I could research how to get to Disneyland and if the weather would change.
the weather, the internet informs me, is a stable 53 degrees but sunny, which I feel on the elevator on my way down after spending too much time getting ready and deliberating whether or not to go, The park however, opens at 9 and because I was not expecting to go today, it is already late and by the time I get there the park will have been open by a total of one and a half hours, not counting that which I may spend in line, because I’m from Chicago, the land where six flags lines leave you sunburnt and hurting. I figure I have about six hours to explore the park before it begins to get dark, and hurry down the subway stairs, as if my rush will cut down the travel time.
In the train, I decide good omens are lighting my way as I spot my first paid of fat Japanese girls and a Hispanic family. the train takes long to take off but it’s a rapid train, which though does not move as an express train does in Chicago, is assured to move faster than regular trains do. The Disneyland stop is Mahaima and the conductor assures me this train is headed there, and after overhearing some conversation and working up the courage to actually speak to a human being to say something other than 'Arigato and Sumimasen' the two most useful phrases for an American traveling in japan, I realize that the Hispanic family too, is heading to Disneyland although they, unlike me, actually planned to when they looked at the weather earlier in the week. This alerts me to the fact that probably everyone left on this train is heading to Disneyland, and thinking of the wait lines that are surely ahead, my heart sinks a little as I silently reprimand myself for getting out of the hotel so late. When the train doors open to Mahaima, everyone rushes out to a sign that says 'Welcome to Tokyo Disneyland' and I am in such a rush to beat them all, that I pass right through the station exit without noticing that I actually underpaid my ticket. Disneyland turns out not to be hard to find, and I didn’t think it would be, but the sun is bright and shining and this feels like an island, with the palm-looking trees at the sides of the bridge towards the entrance. A sunny day in Tokyo, and the very first real hint of excitement I’ve had on my trip here, sad to say. But who can't help but be excited when in Disneyland? Especially when they discover the marvelousness that it is because: no lines!
The entrance is magical and filled with shops with goodies never seen in a Disney store, but I don’t allow myself to go in, saving my time for attraction seeing and ride-hopping. The Disney castle is within distance and my heart leaps because everyone is a child in Disneyland. when I get to the center, I realize everyone is sitting down, which seems an odd thing to do this early in the day, so I look through my event guide, and sure enough, a parade is expected in thirty minutes, Disney’s Easter parade, and I decide that if I’m going to miss the glitz, the glamour, and the lights of the nighttime parade, I better not miss this one so I plop my things down, and use the time to peruse the map and plot out my day.
I can see a carrot looming in the distance and moving closer, and this is how I know that the parade has started, even though no one else seems to realize it yet. Beforehand, music blares through the speakers and a Disney guide leads us through a short bunny dance coordinated to the music. Everyone laughs and claps, because we are giddy, yes giddy is the perfect word. Soon dancers are coming down the street, wearing bunny costumes and bright flower-pleated skirts, and I’m receiving a group call from my friends via google hangouts, so I hold my camera on the right hand and point my phone toward the parade with the other, hoping they are able to view the parade via video.
When the parade is over, I gather my things and head toward fantasy land, just beyond the Disney castle, phone in hand, unsure if my friends can hear me, but talking nonetheless just in case they can. The Disney castle seems like a promise in the sky, which is cheesy, but true, like all those things you thought were once real, fairies, and princesses, and God help me, unicorns, are real and waiting just beyond. I spot an Alice in wonderland ride and get on, since there's hardly anyone there. I've called Tine back by now, realizing the video call never actually went through and scream happily into the video screen, where I can see his face smiling back at me as I spin, one handed, on the tea cups, watching the world go by, and feeling like this might just be the fastest tea cup ride I've ever been on. He asks if I'm happy, and I reply, who can't be, here.
The next line I get on is for the haunted mansion, don't ask me why. Attracted by the gate and garden, which I now realize was part-cemetery, I got in line just to keep looking inside. Then it was too late to get out. Once I'm at the door, the woman informs me I can't take pictures so I let Tino go. We step into a large room, lights off, and watch the beginning of our creep fest, then feel as if we are descending slowly into another space, where a wall opens to let us into the next corridor. Ghosts and ghouls, skeletons and paintings move and we are taken on a ride through the cemetery, where the band plays and the trio-quartet? Sings, until we are finally shown in mirrors, reflections of ourselves with ghosts on our seats.
It's all very worth it, I assure you. If that doesn't make my day, then the Mickey orchestra 4d experience I step into next definitely does. And then there's pirates of the Caribbean, and I think I will definitely die happy-until it's time to buy souvenirs and the pressure makes me crack, and the crack is worth a hundred bucks.
The day goes by easily enough, and by the time six o clock rolls around I feel fulfilled, and the air has grown chilly and the sun is close to setting, so I head home, the happiest I've been during my entire trip here.
The sun is shining. I suspected it was an okay day, with suspicion that it would still rain later on, as I looked out from the elevator windows. From the lounge though, the sun beams with such promise that it seems unlikely that rain may mar this day. My body is starting to feel somewhat like a body again which means I will most likely be out the door in a few minutes. But this sun. This sun is unexpected which makes me think that doing something outside today might not be so bad. Shinjuku Gyoen? Only if I go to Roppongi, which is already the question of the day. although I began today with the thought of going to Roppongi, seeing an art museum after so many days of shopping, arcades, and randomness, seems anticlimactic-though I know I should, if only to see the Tokyo tower, and marking the reality of this trip. On the other hand, after researching the other options left for the few days that remain of this trip, Odaiba seems a more exciting option. Malls! Leisure Land! Palette Town! An Italian Piazza! Museums! Rainbow Bridge! etc. etc. but this sun. This sun wants to go to Disneyland. Do I? I gulp down my mineral water, the first fresh and cold water I’ve had in days, which is strange for a girl that couldn’t go 20 minutes without a sip, and twirl ramen around my chopsticks, my breakfast penitence dish to make up for the burger I ate last night, wishing the Wi Fi in here worked and I could research how to get to Disneyland and if the weather would change.
the weather, the internet informs me, is a stable 53 degrees but sunny, which I feel on the elevator on my way down after spending too much time getting ready and deliberating whether or not to go, The park however, opens at 9 and because I was not expecting to go today, it is already late and by the time I get there the park will have been open by a total of one and a half hours, not counting that which I may spend in line, because I’m from Chicago, the land where six flags lines leave you sunburnt and hurting. I figure I have about six hours to explore the park before it begins to get dark, and hurry down the subway stairs, as if my rush will cut down the travel time.
In the train, I decide good omens are lighting my way as I spot my first paid of fat Japanese girls and a Hispanic family. the train takes long to take off but it’s a rapid train, which though does not move as an express train does in Chicago, is assured to move faster than regular trains do. The Disneyland stop is Mahaima and the conductor assures me this train is headed there, and after overhearing some conversation and working up the courage to actually speak to a human being to say something other than 'Arigato and Sumimasen' the two most useful phrases for an American traveling in japan, I realize that the Hispanic family too, is heading to Disneyland although they, unlike me, actually planned to when they looked at the weather earlier in the week. This alerts me to the fact that probably everyone left on this train is heading to Disneyland, and thinking of the wait lines that are surely ahead, my heart sinks a little as I silently reprimand myself for getting out of the hotel so late. When the train doors open to Mahaima, everyone rushes out to a sign that says 'Welcome to Tokyo Disneyland' and I am in such a rush to beat them all, that I pass right through the station exit without noticing that I actually underpaid my ticket. Disneyland turns out not to be hard to find, and I didn’t think it would be, but the sun is bright and shining and this feels like an island, with the palm-looking trees at the sides of the bridge towards the entrance. A sunny day in Tokyo, and the very first real hint of excitement I’ve had on my trip here, sad to say. But who can't help but be excited when in Disneyland? Especially when they discover the marvelousness that it is because: no lines!
The entrance is magical and filled with shops with goodies never seen in a Disney store, but I don’t allow myself to go in, saving my time for attraction seeing and ride-hopping. The Disney castle is within distance and my heart leaps because everyone is a child in Disneyland. when I get to the center, I realize everyone is sitting down, which seems an odd thing to do this early in the day, so I look through my event guide, and sure enough, a parade is expected in thirty minutes, Disney’s Easter parade, and I decide that if I’m going to miss the glitz, the glamour, and the lights of the nighttime parade, I better not miss this one so I plop my things down, and use the time to peruse the map and plot out my day.
I can see a carrot looming in the distance and moving closer, and this is how I know that the parade has started, even though no one else seems to realize it yet. Beforehand, music blares through the speakers and a Disney guide leads us through a short bunny dance coordinated to the music. Everyone laughs and claps, because we are giddy, yes giddy is the perfect word. Soon dancers are coming down the street, wearing bunny costumes and bright flower-pleated skirts, and I’m receiving a group call from my friends via google hangouts, so I hold my camera on the right hand and point my phone toward the parade with the other, hoping they are able to view the parade via video.
When the parade is over, I gather my things and head toward fantasy land, just beyond the Disney castle, phone in hand, unsure if my friends can hear me, but talking nonetheless just in case they can. The Disney castle seems like a promise in the sky, which is cheesy, but true, like all those things you thought were once real, fairies, and princesses, and God help me, unicorns, are real and waiting just beyond. I spot an Alice in wonderland ride and get on, since there's hardly anyone there. I've called Tine back by now, realizing the video call never actually went through and scream happily into the video screen, where I can see his face smiling back at me as I spin, one handed, on the tea cups, watching the world go by, and feeling like this might just be the fastest tea cup ride I've ever been on. He asks if I'm happy, and I reply, who can't be, here.
The next line I get on is for the haunted mansion, don't ask me why. Attracted by the gate and garden, which I now realize was part-cemetery, I got in line just to keep looking inside. Then it was too late to get out. Once I'm at the door, the woman informs me I can't take pictures so I let Tino go. We step into a large room, lights off, and watch the beginning of our creep fest, then feel as if we are descending slowly into another space, where a wall opens to let us into the next corridor. Ghosts and ghouls, skeletons and paintings move and we are taken on a ride through the cemetery, where the band plays and the trio-quartet? Sings, until we are finally shown in mirrors, reflections of ourselves with ghosts on our seats.
It's all very worth it, I assure you. If that doesn't make my day, then the Mickey orchestra 4d experience I step into next definitely does. And then there's pirates of the Caribbean, and I think I will definitely die happy-until it's time to buy souvenirs and the pressure makes me crack, and the crack is worth a hundred bucks.
The day goes by easily enough, and by the time six o clock rolls around I feel fulfilled, and the air has grown chilly and the sun is close to setting, so I head home, the happiest I've been during my entire trip here.
a note about the japanese metro
I’m unsure about whether or not I am a freak, but I have yet to feel any sort of unusual rush in the Tokyo subway. Everything just seems really efficient. Efficient, is the best way to put it. If you pay enough attention to the people, you get the hang of it quite quick, and did I mention, almost everything is available in English? Also, when in Rome, do as the romans do. And in this case, that means the following:
When using Tokyo subway lines, do not be afraid to google map your destination beforehand so you know what line you are taking to what station, and what station stops are on your way. Getting your ticket is easy enough. Once you know your line, select English on the ticket machine, search for your station, and input the money. It’s not often that you’ll get to look it up by the train line, so your best bet is to just look up the station instead. at the entrance of your line there are only one or two places that actually take your ticket so go ahead and insert it with the arrow facing the machine, and be prepared to grab it when it comes back out, and keep it in hand, because you will need it. This is because when you exit the train, in order to exit and go to the gates, you will need to input that ticket again, I guess so that it knows you paid the correct balance, in order to be let go. Then the machine will take your ticket and you can go on your merry way. If you don’t pay the correct fee, no worries, just step over to the fare adjustment machine which is likely to be nearby, input your ticket and it’ll tell you how much you have to pay. If you can’t find one, swallow the shame, and show your ticket to the man in the glass booth, and he'll help you. the jar line, though built with more space in between trains and hence more walking back and forth, and also a higher price functions more or less the same way, with the exception that when you book a ticket you will need to know your fare in advance (which google will also tell you) then instead of inputting your station, you just select from the screen the amount you expect to pay, pay it, and move on. In Tokyo subways there are designated lines to maximize efficiency of where someone waits to board, and where the people on the train will leave, in order to avoid crowding and pushing. The escalators are the same: the left side is for the people who will just stand on the escalator and wait, the right side is for the people willing to climb the steps of the escalator as it moves because they are both agile and in a rush. When you go up the stone steps to the exit gate, or through the passageways leading to your subway line, there are always designated sections: left for people going and right for people leaving; and vice versa. The trick is to spot it. Once you spot it, you are in the clear, and one step further from being that one rude foreigner.
When using Tokyo subway lines, do not be afraid to google map your destination beforehand so you know what line you are taking to what station, and what station stops are on your way. Getting your ticket is easy enough. Once you know your line, select English on the ticket machine, search for your station, and input the money. It’s not often that you’ll get to look it up by the train line, so your best bet is to just look up the station instead. at the entrance of your line there are only one or two places that actually take your ticket so go ahead and insert it with the arrow facing the machine, and be prepared to grab it when it comes back out, and keep it in hand, because you will need it. This is because when you exit the train, in order to exit and go to the gates, you will need to input that ticket again, I guess so that it knows you paid the correct balance, in order to be let go. Then the machine will take your ticket and you can go on your merry way. If you don’t pay the correct fee, no worries, just step over to the fare adjustment machine which is likely to be nearby, input your ticket and it’ll tell you how much you have to pay. If you can’t find one, swallow the shame, and show your ticket to the man in the glass booth, and he'll help you. the jar line, though built with more space in between trains and hence more walking back and forth, and also a higher price functions more or less the same way, with the exception that when you book a ticket you will need to know your fare in advance (which google will also tell you) then instead of inputting your station, you just select from the screen the amount you expect to pay, pay it, and move on. In Tokyo subways there are designated lines to maximize efficiency of where someone waits to board, and where the people on the train will leave, in order to avoid crowding and pushing. The escalators are the same: the left side is for the people who will just stand on the escalator and wait, the right side is for the people willing to climb the steps of the escalator as it moves because they are both agile and in a rush. When you go up the stone steps to the exit gate, or through the passageways leading to your subway line, there are always designated sections: left for people going and right for people leaving; and vice versa. The trick is to spot it. Once you spot it, you are in the clear, and one step further from being that one rude foreigner.
day four: odaiba and the shinjuku gyoen
Odaiba beach is lonely looking from the moment I get off the train. The air feels like island air, but perhaps it is because I’ve been living in Shinjuku and experiencing the bustling cities of Shibuya, Akihabara, and Disneyland Park, I now feel the absence of the crowds of human bodies strongly. I try to remind myself what I’m here for. I’m here for decks mall, and an Italian piazza. I was promised museums and a giant Gundam figure, and leisure land. But everything in Odaiba is white and intimidating, and new looking buildings and a large Ferris wheel which only makes it all seem lonelier. The decks mall turns out to be poor shopping, Joypolis doesn’t seem worth the admission fee, the trick art museum only makes a single person feel lonelier and awkward while taking selfies against strange walls, and the Italian piazza, though incredibly lovely, makes me wish I was in Europe instead, so I head back to Shinjuku, trying to salvage what is rest of my day, almost tempted to ride the train down to Ikebukuro instead and try that one out. However, today is a lonely homesick kind of day and after yesterday's humongous splurge, I am sorely feeling the absence of money in my pocket, and in no mood to shop.
It is three o clock by the time I am back home (in the city) so I head to Shinjuku Gyoen, which doesn’t close for another hour and a half. The headache I awoke with is gone, but my shoulder is close to coming out of its socket and my feet only have an hour or so left in them before they’ll want to head to a food shop and then bed. Shinjuku Gyoen is only two dollars and that makes me feel better, so I head in, camera in hand, and am rewarded with breath taking views of large ponds, forests, bridges, coy, and the buildings in the distance. Here also, I get my first full, very large share, of cherry blossom viewing-and apparently this is a thing, as many families gather around, armed with large DSLR camera and very expensive looking lenses, taking shot after shot, angle after angle of the blossoms by themselves, and as a backdrop to their family photos.
I wander around, trying to remind myself that I like nature, and I love forests, but all I feel is a strong longing for home. I count the days left to myself over and over, but it all feels too far away.
I wander around, trying to remind myself that I like nature, and I love forests, but all I feel is a strong longing for home. I count the days left to myself over and over, but it all feels too far away.
The best thing about my day turns out to be the large bowl of wonton soup and ramen I am served at a small hole in the wall kind of restaurant in a side street of Shinjuku, one block from my hotel. the place only seems to make wonton dishes, but I love wontons so that’s okay with me, and after navigating through their menu, which asks all the hard hitting questions like shrimp wonton or black pork wonton? Salt broth or spice broth? Chicken broth, seafood broth, or both? I am rewarded with a nice hot bowl of chicken-vegetable salt flavored wonton soup and ramen, served the way I’d always dreamed ramen would be served. I take a sip, and the broth tastes like home, plain chicken broth, with wontons that also taste familiar, though they are not of the meat-filled variety but rather green looking. Even the noodles taste better than regular ramen. It is raining outside, and the dish is comforting, so I try not too slurp too loudly (although slurping is a compliment here) or make too much of a mess as the juices run everywhere, and enjoy.
It’s too early to go home, and I’m still sad, and that would make today seem like a waste, so pass my hotel and decide to keep looking through what Shinjuku has to offer-which so far, is a lot.
The thing about Tokyo it's that besides being full of family marts and karaoke, it's also incredibly full of arcades and pachinko machines. Shinjuku, Shibuya, Akihabara, Ikebukuro, they all have it. I like arcades, I do. They keep you busy and happy, and almost never lonely so I decide it's finally time I join in. Each game is 100 yen, which is about a dollar, so I happily exchange my money, and though I'm delighted to find more Purikura machines and a huge closet of cosplay options, I try not to be tempted, and think instead on focusing on some games. But this is a Japanese arcade, with Japanese games. Watching the players is amazing, some so skilled in dance dance revolution it's evident that they've been dancing for years, others with their fingers flying over the screens, light after light flying across them. It's intimidating. The first game I choose is one I think to be fairly simple: a shooting game called Gunslinger Stratos.
There's a small seat, so I sit down, there are two guns so I assume it's for a second player and grab one, then pick a set of headphones and slip them over my ears. Looking over briefly, I see the Japanese boy playing next to me gesture for me to take the second gun. I smile, and pick it up, realizing that in the game, I can play with both of them, one in each hand. I skip all the instructions dance they are in Japanese anyway, and go straight to the game. Once I start playing I begin to realize that two guns does not equal double the power. Maintaining both of them aimed at the same target proves to be a feat and managing the joystick to move my player at the same time is awkward. Then I discover a jump button, and though this is all very cool, I realize I just am not going to be the best at this, shoot, kill, and move on to something less embarrassing. The game with the glitz and the lights and the speeding gamer fingers attracts me, it does, many of the arcade games seem to be based on beats and music, like some kind of ultra-guitar hero, minus the guitar. Watching them. I sort of get the gist. Touch the circles of light when they touch the center circle, and try not to miss speeding rainbow arrowed lines that arch across the sides and circles that come in go in a second along the way, seems simple enough, but I've seen level eight do I’m wary, things could speed up real quick. The tutorial leaves me a bit more at ease though, and soon I'm moving through the game, one coin getting me through three levels and for the first time in the entire day, I feel genuinely happy.
When I get back, Men In Black is on TV, and I'm thinking the universe must be sympathizing with me. It's in Japanese, but it still feels like home so sit back and enjoy, trying not to think about the hell it is going to be to try to get down the top capsule with aching feet in the morning.
day five: ikebukuro
Roppongi has the museum thing going on, and the tourist trap known as the Tokyo tower, but I'm feeling cheap and while I would like to see art, I'm thinking the day would be better spent in Ikebukuro. The train lands me in the middle of a road that goes five or six ways and all of them feel right, and none of them feel right, and Google has no clue what is going on, but beneath a street I find a walkway, and soon I am facing Bic camera, and I can see the animate building in the distance. I turn right, and I know I'm in the right place once I see the lights of the Ty's mounted on buildings and a game station. We are here mainly for two things: Sunshine City and Tokyo hands, a store that is promised to be kind of quirky and cool.
Up the street, where everyone is migrating is Tokyo hands, and right beside it, a sign for sunshine city, which seems simple enough. At the entrance to Tokyo hands a small shop is set up called beside label selling cool stickers that I'm tempted to buy except for the fact that I never use stickers and I'm trying not to be so wasteful with money. The store is everything it's promised, with do it yourself craft sections, bento boxes which are very tempting, but I doubt I'd actually cook for, (plus I had no idea of all the extra things up buy for a bento lunch, which I sadly have yet to have in Tokyo) cosplay and costumes, a time capsule and instant cameras, and photo props which I buy to decorate my room with.
An hour later I'm on my way to sunshine city, which has an underground passageway from the building where Tokyo hands is, the main building very large and intimidating to navigate, even with the use of the map I pick up upon my entry.
Up the street, where everyone is migrating is Tokyo hands, and right beside it, a sign for sunshine city, which seems simple enough. At the entrance to Tokyo hands a small shop is set up called beside label selling cool stickers that I'm tempted to buy except for the fact that I never use stickers and I'm trying not to be so wasteful with money. The store is everything it's promised, with do it yourself craft sections, bento boxes which are very tempting, but I doubt I'd actually cook for, (plus I had no idea of all the extra things up buy for a bento lunch, which I sadly have yet to have in Tokyo) cosplay and costumes, a time capsule and instant cameras, and photo props which I buy to decorate my room with.
An hour later I'm on my way to sunshine city, which has an underground passageway from the building where Tokyo hands is, the main building very large and intimidating to navigate, even with the use of the map I pick up upon my entry.
The aquarium here is famous, but so is Namja Town, and world, the two indoor theme parks. The rest of sunshine city is a mall. I have full intention to ignore the shopping side of sunshine city, but now and then, a store will pull me in. In sunshine city I find another Disney store, but not as cool as the first, and a Ghibli store, that once again neglects howls moving castle and most of spirited away, but also find the first plus size store I've seen this whole trip, so I go in, delighted that their clothes definitely fit my body, though sadly, not my budget. How Japanese people shop, I have no idea since everything is just so expensive. The most cost affordable things I've seen so far are pretty aprons with nice full skirts and cute tint patterns but that again. I doubt I'd actually use. Somehow I've spent my entire budget here anyway, which is a large sum of money and have close to no clue how.
Namja-town town and world only seem to really have one claim to fame, and that is the characters that they are based off of. Other than that, the thirty dollar admission fee gets you unlimited rides on a small number of attractions, so I skip it and search for the entrance to the aquarium
After getting lost for a moment, I am at the ticket booth, where the teller informs me it is twenty dollars to enter, and an additional three to see the observatory. I assume the observatory is the planetarium (it is not) so I pay and head inside for the live viewing area, which is promised to be interesting.
A live show is going on, in which what I can only assume are seals catch rings tossed from the audience with their heads. I try not to think of possible cruelty or training methods, but stand delighted instead as the people in charger hold bubble blowers up to the seals mouths where they proceed to blow. Above me is a ring of water where a seal swims, and to my right are two more glass tanks where a sea creature roams above us for us to see. The live viewing area is open air, and the atmosphere makes it so that you feel incredibly close to the animals. The Penguins are at eye level, restricted only by a small fence at half my height, and below theirs, in the water. A sudden whoosh sound frightens everyone momentarily, as water cascades quickly from one end, forming a waterfall. Up ahead more animals lie, and large pink white birds preen themselves with their large beaks, seeming so large, they could almost escape their enclosure, and I see signs of an attempt in the feathers caught between wires.
The sunshine city aquarium just makes me think, turn after turn, how lousy the Chicago aquarium really is. (Graphics explaining pros and cons, admission, viewing areas and displays)
After leaving the aquarium, two postcards in hand, and safely avoiding souvenir temptations, I leave, weighing how much I really want a bento box against how little I would actually use it, and in search of the observatory, which I now realize is not, in fact, and the planetarium.
Namja-town town and world only seem to really have one claim to fame, and that is the characters that they are based off of. Other than that, the thirty dollar admission fee gets you unlimited rides on a small number of attractions, so I skip it and search for the entrance to the aquarium
After getting lost for a moment, I am at the ticket booth, where the teller informs me it is twenty dollars to enter, and an additional three to see the observatory. I assume the observatory is the planetarium (it is not) so I pay and head inside for the live viewing area, which is promised to be interesting.
A live show is going on, in which what I can only assume are seals catch rings tossed from the audience with their heads. I try not to think of possible cruelty or training methods, but stand delighted instead as the people in charger hold bubble blowers up to the seals mouths where they proceed to blow. Above me is a ring of water where a seal swims, and to my right are two more glass tanks where a sea creature roams above us for us to see. The live viewing area is open air, and the atmosphere makes it so that you feel incredibly close to the animals. The Penguins are at eye level, restricted only by a small fence at half my height, and below theirs, in the water. A sudden whoosh sound frightens everyone momentarily, as water cascades quickly from one end, forming a waterfall. Up ahead more animals lie, and large pink white birds preen themselves with their large beaks, seeming so large, they could almost escape their enclosure, and I see signs of an attempt in the feathers caught between wires.
The sunshine city aquarium just makes me think, turn after turn, how lousy the Chicago aquarium really is. (Graphics explaining pros and cons, admission, viewing areas and displays)
After leaving the aquarium, two postcards in hand, and safely avoiding souvenir temptations, I leave, weighing how much I really want a bento box against how little I would actually use it, and in search of the observatory, which I now realize is not, in fact, and the planetarium.
The admission ticket comes with a small guide on how to get to the elevators which are specifically for the observatory, where two Japanese guides wait, uniformed and efficient as Japanese people can always be counted on to be. I get on the elevator, following some bowing and Arigatos and it's not long before I get my first surprise, as when the elevator doors close, the lights shut off to reveal glow in the dark constellations covering the elevator from wall to wall to ceiling, complete with Hercules figures. I know I look like a total tourist, but I snap some pictures, amazed, and try not to pay attention to the judge looks I get from the fellow American on the elevator. For some reason, the judgiest people in Japan so far, seem to be Americans.
The observatory is a view of Tokyo from the sixtieth floor of Ikebukuro’s Sunshine City. Tokyo looks very large, and I can spot a few of the places I've visited, as well as get my first and only view of both the Skytree and Tokyo tower from afar, though sadly, not Mount Fuji. I always thought I'd be afraid of heights, and thus have not bothered to visit the Sears, excuse mem, Willis tower, but I stand comfortably and excitedly above Tokyo for a good hour or so, visit the various Tokyo ghoul exhibitions, (Japan is quite proud to be geeks and anime lovers) and head back down to visit the mall, Tokyo hands, and a bit of the Ikebukuro streets.
Back on the ground, bodies crowd around freely, all cars diverted to other streets to allow for easy shopping. Several men and women stand at store entrances hollering out of megaphones, ushering customers inside, as a girl in maids dress hands out pamphlets mid-street. I hope down the Ikebukuro block, and though my Wi-Fi has once again lost coverage or decided to go into power save mode, I feel I can find my way back. One block later and I'm at my station entrance, r wondering why I ever entered Ikebukuro the way I did, in a halfway circle. Thank you, Google maps and thank you Japanese metros ten exits per station.
I'm home earlier than I'd like to be so I walk around the Shinjuku streets for a bit, wondering if I should take a second look at Uniqlo. I have yet to eat anything truly fattening or sweet, so I succumb instead to a Japanese crepe, and order and almond chocolate. The way the street shop is set up, you can see them make the crepes right in front of you, so I film a bit, watching as they smoothly spread a thin layer of dough across a heated circle, and let it cook, sprinkling chocolate pieces and almonds across a quarter of it, then folding it into itself using the long metal spatula. He hands me the crepe, rolled up in a long paper like an ice cream cone, and I feel its heat spread through my fingers. The first bite is filled with chocolatey goodness, the perfect balance, hot and sweet but not excessive, and I'm stuck wondering why I haven't spent all my days eating Japanese crepes.
A FOLLOW UP NOTE ABOUT THE JAPANESE METRO: it is rather crowded on a weekend.
Day six: meiji shrine, harajuku, and yoyogi park
7:51 p.m. Last day in Tokyo
I am definitely getting much more efficient at packing, I think. Most of my things are still in my carry on, which means that my larger bag remains mostly empty, due to that only the things I would be less hurt by losing are there. Checked bags u know, they could be lost. But I also remember the day I got home with those bags, and am equally worried the wheels might die and then what? Let them last, let them last. I get back home around five thirty, reluctantly, but remind myself I have to do things like shower, do laundry, and pack and getting back home early is necessary for all that.
Today is my last day in Japan, the last day to roam around. As planned, I head back to Shibuya to see the things I missed last time, like Shibuya 109, and to have myself another crepe, but in Harajuku.
Shibuya is busy on a weekend, shibuya 109 gathering a small crowd before the doors open and two pink uniformed girls welcome us in. I walk through two boutiques before I realize that shibuya 109 is not all it's cracked up to be, not outlandish or trendsetting, filled with cute clothes yes, but at the usual exorbitant prices from 70 to 90 dollars apiece, but I wander through each floor, willing to give it it's fair chance, then leave, disappointed. So far Tokyo shopping leaves much to be desired for a girl formerly size 14 and currently size 11 or something.
I make my way to Takeshita-Dori easily enough, stopping to take one last look at sunshine records, wondering how much I'll regret it if I don't take a souvenir from there. Before I get to Harajuku, I stop at the first crepe stand I see, and though it's too early to be eating it, order an ice strawberry chocolate crepe. This time, I don't get to watch them make it, but seconds later I'm handed a similar looking bouquet like crepe, with a visible scoop of vanilla ice cream in its center. Taking a bite, I taste a heavy portion of whipped cream and pieces of strawberries, but it's all too much all together and the crepe dough is cold, not hot, so I finish the crepe but feel ashamed about all the calories I surely just invested, and decide its simply not worth it unless it's a crepe like the one back home. Almond chocolate, or bust.
I am definitely getting much more efficient at packing, I think. Most of my things are still in my carry on, which means that my larger bag remains mostly empty, due to that only the things I would be less hurt by losing are there. Checked bags u know, they could be lost. But I also remember the day I got home with those bags, and am equally worried the wheels might die and then what? Let them last, let them last. I get back home around five thirty, reluctantly, but remind myself I have to do things like shower, do laundry, and pack and getting back home early is necessary for all that.
Today is my last day in Japan, the last day to roam around. As planned, I head back to Shibuya to see the things I missed last time, like Shibuya 109, and to have myself another crepe, but in Harajuku.
Shibuya is busy on a weekend, shibuya 109 gathering a small crowd before the doors open and two pink uniformed girls welcome us in. I walk through two boutiques before I realize that shibuya 109 is not all it's cracked up to be, not outlandish or trendsetting, filled with cute clothes yes, but at the usual exorbitant prices from 70 to 90 dollars apiece, but I wander through each floor, willing to give it it's fair chance, then leave, disappointed. So far Tokyo shopping leaves much to be desired for a girl formerly size 14 and currently size 11 or something.
I make my way to Takeshita-Dori easily enough, stopping to take one last look at sunshine records, wondering how much I'll regret it if I don't take a souvenir from there. Before I get to Harajuku, I stop at the first crepe stand I see, and though it's too early to be eating it, order an ice strawberry chocolate crepe. This time, I don't get to watch them make it, but seconds later I'm handed a similar looking bouquet like crepe, with a visible scoop of vanilla ice cream in its center. Taking a bite, I taste a heavy portion of whipped cream and pieces of strawberries, but it's all too much all together and the crepe dough is cold, not hot, so I finish the crepe but feel ashamed about all the calories I surely just invested, and decide its simply not worth it unless it's a crepe like the one back home. Almond chocolate, or bust.
Harajuku is obsessed with crepes however. There's one every two blocks, all with long lines of customers, sometimes two right next to each other, competing head to head. Even the few restaurants dotting Takeshita-Dori offer crepe desserts, all except the McDonald's marring the metal flowered entrance. And then there's the tourists. 65 percent of Harajuku is tourists, but I'm one, so why complain. My first time through Takeshita-Dori I was too tired to care, but after visiting countless Tokyo shops, I see the one true virtue of Harajuku: the prices. From 10 to a maximum of thirty dollars, and things feel like home. There's fitting rooms and every now and again I see something that might fit me and feel a little happy inside. Still searching for that elusive unique Tokyo item, I step inside a store filled with vintage looking clothes and odd but cool purses, some shaped like popcorn boxes.
Though I'd like to say I bought and own a harajuku piece, I don't and leave for the Meiji shrine soon after, taking a long last look at the crowded street before waving my goodbye. The Meiji shrine is far and I soon discover I can't get there by simply crossing the street, at least, Google and the wall next to me says I can't. Instead I am led through a series of adjacent streets which seem mostly empty and when an American family passes next to me from the opposite direction, I silently ask them via telepathy, if the Meiji shrine is ahead. Hope, is there hope somewhere?
Just when I'm about to turn back I spot the entrance, a grand forest archway and two official looking officers. The forest paths and the mention of a "Meiji Gyoen" makes me think there may be a lot more walking ahead than what I wished for, but I continue on, following groups of finely dressed families and camera wielding tourists through the forest path and a map that leads me to the main shrine, which it turns out, is not so far away, and thankfully, it seems the "Gyoen" can be avoided.
The Meiji shrine is beautiful and feels sacred but pales in comparison to the Kanda and Hamazono shrine in color and lack of cherry blossomed trees. I try not to be too much of a tourist though, pay my respects, bow twice, clap twice, bow once and take a drink from the well. The prayer boards are beautiful though. As I read through them the messages vary from,
"My dream was to visit Japan, and I'm here!"
To "I hope my wife recovers from illness" and all touch my heart very deeply. Around the prayer boards are tables filled with envelopes and stationery to write your prayer with, and stick inside a box to be personally read later, complete with a small donation to the shrine. I write mine down and try not to cry. There's just something that pulls at you, doing this.
Just when I'm about to turn back I spot the entrance, a grand forest archway and two official looking officers. The forest paths and the mention of a "Meiji Gyoen" makes me think there may be a lot more walking ahead than what I wished for, but I continue on, following groups of finely dressed families and camera wielding tourists through the forest path and a map that leads me to the main shrine, which it turns out, is not so far away, and thankfully, it seems the "Gyoen" can be avoided.
The Meiji shrine is beautiful and feels sacred but pales in comparison to the Kanda and Hamazono shrine in color and lack of cherry blossomed trees. I try not to be too much of a tourist though, pay my respects, bow twice, clap twice, bow once and take a drink from the well. The prayer boards are beautiful though. As I read through them the messages vary from,
"My dream was to visit Japan, and I'm here!"
To "I hope my wife recovers from illness" and all touch my heart very deeply. Around the prayer boards are tables filled with envelopes and stationery to write your prayer with, and stick inside a box to be personally read later, complete with a small donation to the shrine. I write mine down and try not to cry. There's just something that pulls at you, doing this.
When I come back out from the shrine, I am dragging my feet and wondering whether I should go back and buy a "recover from illness" charm for my mother and "luck with finding a job" charm for my uncle. But 20 dollars seems too much, so I take the opposite path from the shrine to Yoyogi park.
Yoyogi park on a Sunday is supposed to be abuzz with music and randomness, but I fear I will soon be disappointed, and am tired and wondering if it's worth it still all. I'm stubborn though, so before I know it I’m at the entrance, and walking up the stone steps leading to a large forest like park filled and I mean FILLED with families having picnics, taking walks, playing games, friends drinking, school groups doing large activities, and cycling along designated paths.
It doesn't take me long to figure out that Yoyogi park, is in fact awesome. I try to remind myself that this kind of awesome supposedly only happens on a Sunday, so there's no chance I may have missed out on it this whole time. I haven't walked too far before the sound of music draws me further in. Live music! Culture! I am called to it like a moth to a flame, or a starving man to a cheeseburger.
Yoyogi park on a Sunday is supposed to be abuzz with music and randomness, but I fear I will soon be disappointed, and am tired and wondering if it's worth it still all. I'm stubborn though, so before I know it I’m at the entrance, and walking up the stone steps leading to a large forest like park filled and I mean FILLED with families having picnics, taking walks, playing games, friends drinking, school groups doing large activities, and cycling along designated paths.
It doesn't take me long to figure out that Yoyogi park, is in fact awesome. I try to remind myself that this kind of awesome supposedly only happens on a Sunday, so there's no chance I may have missed out on it this whole time. I haven't walked too far before the sound of music draws me further in. Live music! Culture! I am called to it like a moth to a flame, or a starving man to a cheeseburger.
departure
4:20 pm
It's pouring in Japan. It's not that I personally feel, rather, I see it from the airport window. I thought I wouldn't walk today, and just rest and write write write, but three hours later, I've wandered back and forth through the airport and spent an additional forty dollars. And this is after discovering that exchanging currency gets you totally stiffed and that I have 200 less in my account than what I'm supposed to, another mysterious turn which makes me think chase is sneakily stealing my money. One hour to go for the scheduled departure, two for the delay. Stupid airplane. After spending all my morning researching after finding out my flight would be an hour behind schedule, I now know how yo take the airport subway and Arex express to my accomodation. I didn't bother to exchange the rest of my money given that I think I can just withdraw it from ATMs and it'd be cheaper, but this may or may not bite me in the ass. I have 360000 won in hand, and that's enough to keep me alive.
5:27 pm
I am safely boarded and laden with guilt and shame. I've been asked to check my carry on because the plane is too small but I just won't. I can't let go. My carry on is my life. No. And now that I'm seated I'm grateful that I was the first in my area so that I was able to safely put my bags up without trouble. I'm also wondering why all these people with airport shopping bags didn't have to check those instead. I mean, if there really is such little space, why are we using it all up with shopping bags?
Either way I must say I'm happy to see that the flight is for now, departing on schedule. Maybe even arriving early, but let's not get our hopes too high. Let's just bank on arriving safe.
I'm also sad to realize there's no tv on this plane. I was really hoping for another in flight movie. Those rocked. MP3 player it is, I guess. At the very least, it'll isolate me enough that the only thing I have to do to entertain myself, is write. I wish this plane was headed home. I wish, I wish, I wish.
Hopefully the pudding in my backpack doesn't go bad or get killed. Hopefully I can get it past Incheon import security on the way back. Didn't think that one through.
The airline stewardess just said to the passenger one seat over "we have lots of space up here" for him to put his backpack. If you have lots of space, why were you harassing me to check my bag? Unless one of you sneakily removed it. I should have watched that bag carefully. Today's flight begins with guilt and suspiscion.
This morning I was awoken by incessant nagging, international nagging with its fair share of guilt also. So see, it's just a guilty sort of day, "dad won't eat"
Why?
"He's waiting to talk to you"
I rub the sleep out of my eyes. "Hurry you you have twenty minutes"
"I have to get ready it isn't that easy, I can't take calls in here"
"Hurry"
The flight TVs are fuzzy. And a map bulb is being replaced. Does not inspire confidence.
30 minutes late, we depart, oh rain rain go away.
It's pouring in Japan. It's not that I personally feel, rather, I see it from the airport window. I thought I wouldn't walk today, and just rest and write write write, but three hours later, I've wandered back and forth through the airport and spent an additional forty dollars. And this is after discovering that exchanging currency gets you totally stiffed and that I have 200 less in my account than what I'm supposed to, another mysterious turn which makes me think chase is sneakily stealing my money. One hour to go for the scheduled departure, two for the delay. Stupid airplane. After spending all my morning researching after finding out my flight would be an hour behind schedule, I now know how yo take the airport subway and Arex express to my accomodation. I didn't bother to exchange the rest of my money given that I think I can just withdraw it from ATMs and it'd be cheaper, but this may or may not bite me in the ass. I have 360000 won in hand, and that's enough to keep me alive.
5:27 pm
I am safely boarded and laden with guilt and shame. I've been asked to check my carry on because the plane is too small but I just won't. I can't let go. My carry on is my life. No. And now that I'm seated I'm grateful that I was the first in my area so that I was able to safely put my bags up without trouble. I'm also wondering why all these people with airport shopping bags didn't have to check those instead. I mean, if there really is such little space, why are we using it all up with shopping bags?
Either way I must say I'm happy to see that the flight is for now, departing on schedule. Maybe even arriving early, but let's not get our hopes too high. Let's just bank on arriving safe.
I'm also sad to realize there's no tv on this plane. I was really hoping for another in flight movie. Those rocked. MP3 player it is, I guess. At the very least, it'll isolate me enough that the only thing I have to do to entertain myself, is write. I wish this plane was headed home. I wish, I wish, I wish.
Hopefully the pudding in my backpack doesn't go bad or get killed. Hopefully I can get it past Incheon import security on the way back. Didn't think that one through.
The airline stewardess just said to the passenger one seat over "we have lots of space up here" for him to put his backpack. If you have lots of space, why were you harassing me to check my bag? Unless one of you sneakily removed it. I should have watched that bag carefully. Today's flight begins with guilt and suspiscion.
This morning I was awoken by incessant nagging, international nagging with its fair share of guilt also. So see, it's just a guilty sort of day, "dad won't eat"
Why?
"He's waiting to talk to you"
I rub the sleep out of my eyes. "Hurry you you have twenty minutes"
"I have to get ready it isn't that easy, I can't take calls in here"
"Hurry"
The flight TVs are fuzzy. And a map bulb is being replaced. Does not inspire confidence.
30 minutes late, we depart, oh rain rain go away.