Tokyo

Our first couple of nights in Tokyo were fitful ones; we wouldn’t sleep past 3:30 AM. We got up, cleaned up and had some coffee and green tea before meeting Richard in the lobby to head over to the Tsukiji fish market. Susan opted to sit, or sleep, that one out. Once we navigated our first challenge--navigating the labyrinthine overpasses of Shiodome to end up on the right side of a series of intersections—we were spit out on ground level, within sight of a vending machine (yes, the vending machine).

Our next challenge was to make it past the tourist-hunting scooters to the tuna auction action. We followed the other sleepwalking gaijin, who led us to tunapalooza. We got in line and inched toward the auction, watching fish-carrying conveyances whiz by in all directions.
Through the windows, we saw some furious tuna bidding, and once we got to walk through the auction areas to the next street over, where tourist traffic police waved people off the street and signs warned tourists not to dilly dally in the street. We were impressed to have gotten through that place with our toes intact.

The hypocrisy of going to the fish market--not to mention consuming seafood in Japan, particularly beyond the call of duty, as I did--was not lost on me. You guys know how strongly I feel about humane, sustainable food, and, unless you have your head up your @$$, you know the Japanese seafood industry is vile. I did it partly out of necessity (it was either fish or meat) and partly because it's an essential aspect of the culture (is that a cop-out? it's not like I'd eat beef in Argentina).

Anyway, after a Japanese breakfast back at the hotel, we set out for a walk through Ginza and to the grounds of the Imperial Palace. From there, we subwayed to Asakusa and walked around the neighborhood. There were lines outside some restaurants and the smell of burnt tofu was in the air (I know it well). We had a tasty soba lunch (not quite Pareve, but close enough at that point) before proceeding to Senso-ji, making sure to get some of the healing smoke on our wary selves. Unless I’m confused (which is not unlikely), the Buddha in Senso-ji is the oldest in Tokyo.

We then headed to Ueno park, which, you’ll recall, was bananas on steroids. Everyone and her grandmother had come to Ueno for hanami. The place was covered with blue tarps, which, in turn, were covered with all kinds of people, foodstuffs, drinks, and distractions. We saw one electric keyboard, and many a boardgame. We explored Ueno park, gawking at the hanami-ers, and got our first green-tea ice creams of the trip. This constituted our “drive-by hanami,” to be followed by proper hanami at a later time. We emerged by the zoo and pond, from where we passed a graphic sex shop on our way to Muji (a department store). At Muji, Jay got a whole bunch of crap, including strawberry cookies that ended up tasting like Cap'n Crunch, and I got the perfect blogger tool: a pocket-sized, key-ringed notepad. We also stopped into a Uniqlo and an anime-type shop, which was full of cuss nobody needed, like cell phone charms. And sparkly stickers with which to, in Richard’s words, bedazzle one’s phone. [Any of you who take issue with my split infinitive can suck it].

We gave ourselves some time to decompress at the hotel before meeting up for dinner, i.e. setting out on a hunt in one of the malls near our hotel. You know how sometimes in malls in the U.S., you'll see a car on display for some promotion or other? Can you guess what was on display in this mall? Wait for it... a toilet. A talking one, no less. Because it's not like Japan makes cars, or anything. Unfortunately, I didn't have my camera on me, but Richard videotaped the uber-high-tech toilet, so hopefully he'll share the video.

Anyway, we circled, and circled, and circled, until I couldn’t take it anymore. It’s not that there weren’t many restaurants; it’s that their menus were all in Kanji, and/or they had long lines, and/or they specialized in soba, which we’d had for lunch. And there was the issue of our practically mutually exclusive food preferences. Which was how we ended up at Ducky Duck, or what I call Japanese Applebee’s.

We popped by AM/PM for snacks/dessert/sake/beer before heading to the hotel. Jay tried kushidango—rice balls on a toothpick, covered in sweetened soy sauce—for the first and last time, as well as a Crunky bar. I had yet to jump on the snack-bandwagon, but it didn’t take long. The next morning, on the way to Kamakura to see the Giant Buddha, I found heaven in an ice cream vending machine. Shortly thereafter, we’d stumble upon our first 100 Yen store—which largely carries the same exact cuss as dollar stores here—where I got some wasabi peas. None of this ruined my appetite for where we ended up having lunch, after circling for too long in search of something acceptable to all of us. Someone dubbed it the Japanese Chili’s, which isn’t far off, but I think it’s actually called Rufuron, based on my credit card bill.

You may be wondering what brought us to Kawasaki, as it’s not a very touristy place--at least not the 364 days of the year when it is not the site of Kanamara Matsuri (the name is all the information you’ll get from me, because this is a family blog). Actually, Kawasaki’s non-tourist-attraction status made it all the more fascinating. On our way to and from Chili’s, we passed bingo in the outdoor foyer of the mall. Between the mall and the metro, we got our first exposure to Japanese tissue-pack marketing (and collected a year’s supply of tissue packs). Later, on the train to the Matsuri, we noticed what some of them were advertising, and understood why some of the tissue pack distributors were more interested in Richard and Jason and others in Susan and me. Richard was glad to finally get some “man tissues” (and later, Jay, subconsciously or not, asked me for some “man tissue”). I know I said this was a family blog, but who am I kidding? Even so, I can't get into what we saw at Kanamara Matsuri; suffice to say, we saw plenty.

Before heading back to Tokyo, we stopped into, and stayed too long, in my humble opinion, an electronics store, and then stood in line for Krispy Kreme (or, as Jay more accurately describes it, Krusty Krack). Richard tried a soy donut; I tried nothing (even if it weren't Passover, I'd take a pass on Krusty Krack), apart from a bite of the free sample donut I got just for being in line. I had to find out if they were the same as the ones here. So Jay got my sample, and his sample, and two more donuts.

We returned to Tokyo, exhausted, and sat in the lobby figuring out where to eat. That’s when I lost Wendy’s phrasebook, which was quite useful, not just for dealing with Jay (“You’ve had one too many!” “You’re cut off!”). It must have slipped under the sofa cushion, or something, and I didn’t notice it gone until the next day, when it was too late. Anyway, that was the night Susan recused herself from dinner, which freed us to have sushi. We ventured out to Shimbashi for an amazing meal and a glimpse of aboveground Tokyo at night (it was the first we’d emerged from the underground passageways between Shimbashi and Shiodome, and the malls that popped up in between). It was exciting. I almost wanted to walk around, except my feet were about to fall off.

We would have to move hotels the following day, and we weren’t sure how or when--although we were sure we wanted to avoid rush hour. We’d agreed beforehand, upon consultation with various people who knew Tokyo well, that Shiodome was ideal for our first few days, but we’d want to move on to other places, like Shinkjuku. We checked out, left our luggage with the hotel, and chatted in the lobby.

A.: How’d you sleep?
Richard: Not bad. We’ve been so tired, we were knocked out. You?
A.: Not too bad, except this bi&ch kept hogging the covers.
Jay, sweetly: This kitty [indicating a Maneki Neko, or Japanese fortune cat, with one hand], not this kitty [indicating a catty claw with the other].

It was raining, would rain all day. We wanted to hit up Kabuki-za at some point, as the historic building would be torn down the next month. I wanted to hang out in the area until the first show, but the other three wanted to check out Akihabara, and Richard could get a camera battery charger there, so off we went. And stayed, past the point where I would lose my mind.

My instinct is to refer to Akihabara as “Electric Avenue,” which would give away my age. I believe the correct moniker is Electric Town. In any case, in case you haven’t figured it out, it’s all about the electronics (although there’s some anime, and plenty of Hello Kitty paraphernalia). And those electronics do blare. By the end of the trip, we’d all get sick of things that talk to you—elevators, vending machines, what have you. But three days in, I was already overwhelmed by electronics blaring at me. The others were, however, apparently enjoying themselves.

Now, in all seriousness, I prefer not to give my readers Too Much Information, but in this case I have no choice. I need you to understand why that Monday had all the ingredients for the perfect storm of a meltdown (or two): rain, compounded exhaustion due to jetlag and poor sleep, crappy food for lunch, hours of blaring electronics, and PMS. I was ecstatic when I understood that the latter was involved, because I’d been wondering up until then, other factors notwithstanding, whether my mother was right and I really wasn’t fit to interact with people (note: my mother’s antics in and of themselves equal several ingredients of the perfect storm of a meltdown).

Anyway, in Akihabara, electronics blared all around us. Richard found his charger, but we kept shopping. And the TVs and stereos kept blaring. I found myself in front of a wall of Hello Kitty cuss, and e-mailed Allen to ask whether he wanted anything (his response: "Only if there's something really inappropriate, like a Hello Kitty meat cleaver or Hello Kitty condom dispenser." I turned around, and my friends had disappeared. It took twenty minutes to find them, on another floor. They said they’d looked for me everywhere (except, apparently, at the Hello Kitty wall where they’d left me). Then, we decided to finally leave that place and find lunch. But again, I turned around and everyone was gone (this precipitated my meltdowns, so it wasn’t me). I waited at the door for a very long time, while TVs blared. Finally, Jay came by—he didn’t know where the others were. Eventually, they emerged.

We headed to the mall with the anime center. Susan loves anime and manga. I tolerate it, because it's cultural, like the fish market. The Japanese excel in Cute Power, and even have an anime ambassador. Bhutan has its Gross National Happiness, Japan has its Gross National Cool, of which Cute is an integral part. "Cute" was the first Japanese word Susan learned, and the one I heard her use most often. Her interest in Japan was born out of her love for Hello Kitty. She sported a Hello Kitty suitcase, and had Hello Kitty Wellies at home. It's not that I don't appreciate 'cute;' in fact, I often tell Gracie, 'good thing you're cute, or who knows why anyone would keep you around.' But I digress.

Before heading to the anime center, we decided it was time for lunch.

A.: Look, it’s a Japanese place that has cooked food, including chicken.
Richard, Susan: This curry place looks interesting.

The curry place was disgusting. Not only that, but their only pescetarian option didn't provide enough food (it was basically rice and curry sauce). I was hungry again almost as soon as we left.

The anime center was pretty cool, but I was nonetheless ecstatic when we left Akihabara. The subway spit us out directly in front of Kabuki-za. Where we found out that the next show was sold out, and that the following one would end just in time for us to move hotels during Tokyo’s rush hour. And we were just in time to stand in line for an hour and a half for it. Thus, meltdown #1:

A.: I knew this was going to happen. I just knew it. We could have thought of this when we decided to dilly-dally in Akihabara for hours.
Jay: A little passive-aggression?
A.: Give me some credit: that was open aggression.
Richard: What’s the point?
A.: Well, what are we going to do? If we’re going to go, we need to get in line.

So we did. I was still hungry. I think I accepted some junk food from Jay to tide me over, although maybe at that point I was still resisting. It’s all a blur.

We waited, as the crowds grew, and as the audience of the previous show emerged and practically stampeded us, including several groups of elderly Japanese women. It was wild. The wait was just as “cultural” as the show.

Did I mention that by the time we got in line, it was for standing room only? So after standing in line, we stood at Kabuki (we lasted about half an hour, which is about as much Kabuki as one needs). It was pretty cool (and I’m sure it would have been cooler had I brought my glasses), and I have to hand it to Susan: we’d joked about how we’d make up our own plot to explain what we saw, but she effectively figured out the actual plot (which Jason read off a cheat sheet, over the shoulder of another audience member the next row over). It was impressive.

After Kabuki, we had dessert (well, it was still Passover, so they had dessert) and walked around Ginza some more, in a fruitless search for food. We popped into a pub recommended by my guidebook, but were told they only had Japanese menus. So we walked, and we walked, and we walked. Finally, we found a department store, where we each got our own thing and took it back to the hotel lobby. The department store was fascinating. I'd seen similar food counters on the basement floor of stores in China, but those were mostly Walmart and Carrefour. I'm not suggesting China lacks for high-end department stores; I'm merely telling you that I didn't see them. Anyway, we went from counter to counter, checking out the offerings, as vendors greeted us with cries of "irashaimase!" (which was often shortened to "shimase!" In the morning, it would be a mix of "shimase!" and "ohayo gozaimas!" (good morning), which would sound like just "gozaimas!"

Anyway, it was dark by the time we got our stuff and hauled it to Shinjuku. The hotel was supposed to be right by the station, but the station has a gazillion exits (though less than the bajillion of Tokyo station). I was confused about which exit we’d taken. And tired. And PMSy. According to the map, we needed to walk north. Jay was recalcitrant. I showed him the map and insisted. Then, I turned around, and saw that he was walking the other way. Meltdown #2.

A.: Unless I’m a f*ing idiot, the hotel is that way, so put down the f*ing blackberry.
Jay: The hotel is right there, and that’s uncalled for.
A.: No it isn’t, and what’s uncalled for?
Jay: You’re calling me a f*ing idiot.
A.: I’m calling myself a f*ing idiot because you’re implying that I can’t read a map.
Jay: That’s the hotel.
A.: How do you know?
Jay: Because I can read. And I am so done.

He had a point. I conceded it. R&S looked at me like I was nuts, which I was. But Jay and I were an old married couple, after all. We'd been waking up early and chatting in bed (although, mercifully, we'd get our own beds in this new hotel, and they were worth every penny), and we'd talk it over. You know the rule: don't go to bed mad.

The hotel lobby was on the 20th floor. This was a very nice hotel, and it wasn’t expensive. We checked in, headed to our room on the 24th floor, with windows spanning most of one wall and a guide sheet to identify landmarks.

The toilet was even more high-tech, and had an additional warning: take care not to burn your butt if you sit too long:

The next day, in Shibuya--we decided to brave rush hour and take the subway there--we’d walk past the following sign:
We understood why you’d need one. When we’d get in that afternoon, we’d hear a noise.

Jay: The toilet’s rebooting.
A.: That thing is more high-tech than my phone. It has a brain of its own.
Jay: It probably has five microprocessors.

We walked from Shibuya to Harajuku, to the Meiji Shrine and the gardens in the park, and then to Shinjuku Gyoen (by way of Mini Stop, of course). I already told you about our picture-perfect (and food-perfect) proper hanami. We had a lovely walk through the park afterward.

We headed back to the hotel, stopping at the train station to make reservations for the rest of our trip. The reservation people were very patient with us. Then we split off until dinner--R&S to the Hello Kitty store in Ginza, Jay and I to the top of the Metropolitan Building for a sunset view of the city. We found a bank, first, and came out the other side of the subway, where I smelled crepes. Passover had come and gone, and I love a crepe. Jay smelled it, too. But we lost the scent... and settled for a convenience store. We both got ice cream (Jay got adzuki; I think I got chocolate). As soon as we left the store, I saw that we were outside a Macrobiotic Store, which, as I've told you, was heaven. The previous evening, we'd hunted for snacks/breakfast (not included at this hotel), and I got what I thought was an omelet (in a convenience store bento box). I mean, it was an omelet, with something wrapped inside, which I hoped was not meat. We ran into R&S in the lobby on our way back, discussed our respective finds. The following morning, Susan asked what was inside my omelet--she really hoped it wasn't meat, too (I'm sure she would have been, anyway, because she's such a nice person, but I believe she had come to appreciate at that point that we all had an interest in ensuring that I did not starve). I told her that I was so caught up in hoping that that something wasn't meat that I neglected to hope that it wasn't rice, which, of course, it was. But at least I could/would eat rice, even if I didn't want to.

By that time, I realized I'd have to snack more for the sake of group harmony. I had very little control over mealtimes--even though we would all get hungry around the same time, it took us forever to agree on something, and my meals were often less filling than the others', so I'd need food more urgently. This epiphany helped convince me to get over myself and let more junk food into my life, at least for the duration of the trip. My food politics were on vacation with regard to humane seafood, so I may as well have given them a rest in terms of whole foods as well.

Anyway, our last night in Tokyo, Jay managed to resist the Krusty Krack between the hotel and the station/mall where we were meeting R&S for dinner and would have a passable, but forgettable meal. We had to--well, opted to--go through a department store to get back to the hotel. The shopping was still full swing.

Jay: It's amazing, but the Japanese consume more than we do.
A.: I'm amazed they've not consumed themselves out of their lost decade.
Jay: I studied this at some point... it's complicated.
A.: It's impressive.

We'd visit many more department stores in the course of the trip, and we'd continue to be awed at the level of consumption.