Japan Part II

I will begin this post by tying down some loose ends from my last blog post, in which I described my 18 hour layover in Tokyo.  At various points, I was unsure of whether or not the past tense of 'to drink' was 'drunk' or 'drank'.  I indicated this by writing 'drank (drunk?)' as a way to indicate my uncertainty.  Since then, I have determined that the past tense of  'to drink' is, indeed 'drank', and that 'drunk' is exclusively an adjective, describing the state of having drank (drunk?) too much alcohol.

So, I mentioned that I had been cheated out of $20.  Here is how it happened; I went into a 7-11 (actually called just 7, remember) and I saw these little round breaddy things in little baggies (see picture) all connected.  That is, the baggies were connected by perforations at their ends.

So, imagine like five or six of these things attached together by their serrated, perforated ends.  So the logical thing to do is rip off the final one, and just buy that one.  But instead, I rip off the last one, as well as a hole in the second to last one, and the little bready round things fall all over the floor.  No problem, I pick them all up before anyone notices; maybe one guy just sees me pick up a single bready thing.  So, when I go  to pay, I indicate using sign language that I want to pay for two.  Instead, the clerk walks over to where the things were, and says that I have to buy the whole strip.  And he says (if I remember) that it is 2000 Yen!  Which is like $20. But at that point, the two glasses of Sake were enough to make me oblivious, that I was being cheated, as well as to the fact that the Seven clerk was bringing DISHONOR to the whole of Japan through his perfidious actions.  To any Japanese people who may be reading this, that was a joke.

I was at this 7-11 on the way from retracing the route from the internet cafe where I would sleep, to the train station.  On the way, I see a pretty awesome street performer.  In America, you sometimes see guys just playing solo Jazz trumpet or saxaphone, imrpovising, but never sounding any good.  But this guy accompanied himself with DJ equipment that he controlled with his feet. He was jamming!

In this video, he was not quite on his game, but believe me, he could be when he wanted to.

I should also mention a small other story; when I got my second bowl of Ramen, they were playing the Beatles in the restaurant.  When the song 'If I fell' came on, I sort of started singing it aloud, and really in tune.  This group of Japanese girls could hear me; hopefully they realized 'people actually know these English songs'.

Finally, the internet cafe was interesting, in and of itself.  Apparently Japenese people sleep here when they have been out clubbing later than the last subway train.  There was a whole machine full of interesting Japanese complimentary soft drinks!  But by that point I had come to accept that every country that I visit will have way too many interesting new soft drinks than I can try without catching the beetus.  There was also an extensive library of Japanese comics for people to read.  And a shower, but it was locked, and I could have asked for the key, but I was tired, and didn't feel like going through the logistics of being wet.
The place where I slept was a small square, where I couldn't quite extend myself, even if I lay along the hypotenuse.

A final interesting thing about Japan is that they have designated smoking zones in the middle of the sidewalk.

I am not sure if this is the only place where you are allowed to smoke, or what.  Anyway, at these places I could always ask for directions, because I had a captive audience.  With regards to American politics, I am not sure of where I stand with regards to the government restricting smoking in private restaurants; on one hand it infringes on the rights of bar owners to set the rules for what happens on the premises of their own businesses, while on the other, I really hate cigarettes.  Japan, however, seems to have taken it a step further.  Upon further consideration, the government does have an undeniable right to control what may be seen as a public nuisance (ie smoking in the streets).  But the effect was to create areas where there was a really  unpleasant haze, whereas without the restriction, the cigarette smoke would  have been diluted.


I will conclude my discussion of my time in Japan by mentioning that I did, in fact, see a certain amount of Japan's sleazy side.  Twice (on the same block) I was harassed by women of loose morals on the street, and was forced to politely jog away.

Even though there is almost no litter on the streets of Japan, I did, in fact, see quite a few men spitting on the sidewalk.

At one point I saw a rat in an alley.

The most sleazy example by far, though, was a strange establishment that I saw in some shady alley.  I would frequently walk down dark alleys, in search of interesting places like that small bar I mentioned in my last post. (Keep in mind that there is almost no violent crime in Japan.  I would use better judgment in a city like London, for example).  Many times I did, in fact see interesting small restaurants.  But once, I saw a guy just sort of sitting at a desk in an open storefront.  I approached him, and tried to ask just what kind of  business he was running there. I tried offering small sums of money for maybe a small whatever product he was selling (specialty fish products maybe?); but he reacted with scared, angry indignation.  So, at that point I realize that this guy was running some kind of shifty operation.  At that point I do some make shift sign language, to him, demonstrating non-standard ways of taking in substances (I was just trying to figure out what the deal was!).  He kept on reacting with the same shifty attitude.  I then hold up my iphone, non-verbally asking permission to take a photograph. He REALLY wasn't happy about that.  Then I notice an easel with pictures of scantily clad women, and I high tail it out of there.

So, overall Japan was pretty cool, I guess.

I have been in Singapore for about a month now.  In that time, I have met amazing people from all over the world, tried amazing food, and even traveled to Hong Kong for a weekend. But just like every successful installment in a series of masterpieces, this blog post is ending with a cliffhanger.  Until next time!

Off

It has been 48 hours or something since I left home and it has been a wild ride.  I got up pretty early on Saturday to head to the airport.  My dad made a pretty baller breakfast to send me off.

The flight to Chicago went smoothly.  Landed in Chicago with an hour or so to spare before the flight to Narita airport in Japan.  Not unexpectedly, there were a lot of Japanese people at the gate. 

Now, for the past few days or so, I had been having an internal/external debate of whether it would be better to spend my 18 hour layover in the relatively quiet Airport town of Narita, or take the train into Tokyo.  All through the flight to Chicago I was having a pretty heated internal dialogue, comparing the the pros and cons of each option. 

"You have a plane to catch, if you get lost in Tokyo and miss your plane you will regret it big time"

"But you might regret it even more if you knew that you had the chance to go to TOKYO and spent the night chatting with other westerners in a backpacker's hostel"

" you don't even know where to stay in Tokyo, what are you gonna do, sleep on the streets? Pay $100 for a hotel?'

"Whatever Jordan, whatever."

Keep in mind that I had already cancelled my reservations at the Narita hostel, as a preemptive preparation for going to Tokyo. 

So, at the gate I asked some Japanese people for advice,  and the ones that spoke English unanimously said that I should go to Tokyo. 

So, I got on the plane, in my seat that was at the center of the five seat center line of seats that typically exists on these international flights.  The guy on the left of me (Japanese guy who could speak English) asked to change seats, so that he could be with his friends, so I was sitting in the second seat on the left.  Throughout the flight we had many interesting conversations; he is a graphic designer; I forget if he lives in Tokyo, or somewhere else, but a major theme of the conversation was whether it would be better to go to Narita or Tokyo.  He said Tokyo.  I mentioned the temple in Narita, and he said that it would be closed by the time I got there.  He also said that, for Ramen, which I wanted to eat, Tokyo would be better. 

I asked about navigating the train system.  He pointed me to his friend sitting two seats down, named Kyoko, who would be heading home on the train in the direction of Shibuya, the Times-Square like neighborhood of Tokyo.  I could follow her, and she could help me change trains.

What about where to stay?  He directed me to one of two hotels, one called 'NetCafe', the other called 'Manga', as in Japanese comics.  He furthermore told me that rooms there were cheap, and that I could pay prices like 4000 Yen (~$4) an hour to stay there, and that I could get a shower as well.  

Interesting.  I decided that it would give Tokyo a try. 

He said that people know about these places, and that if I went to Shibuya, I should have no problems finding them. He even told me how to say 'where is ___?' in Japanese, and I wrote it in a note on my cellphone.

I had a lot of conversations about Japan, and what we both did for a living /in anticipation of making a living, with that guy, but slowly something seemed very wrong.  

From the beginning, I noticed that he had a very effeminate manner,  and that was ok, because it made sense in light of the fact that he was a graphic designer (I guess I am being honest about certain stereotype that I have).  When he told me that his name was Yoko, as in Yoko Ono, I didn't blink.  I just assumed that Yoko could be a girls or guys name.  

But sure enough, when we were walking off the plane twelve hours later, I could say with a high level of certainly that who I was talking to was not the guy in his late twenties, who I thought, but instead a just-past middle aged woman.  I guess it was the haircut that threw me off.  A low voice as well, and the Japanese accent.  

Anyway.

The concourse to the terminal was really busy; just a big river of Japanese people.  You couldn't stand still, because you would be in the way.  I walked with Kyoko, who was without a doubt a woman in her early to mid thirties.  She said that she was from Kyoto, a city, which she informed me, has many old temples, and that in fact the Kanji symbol for Kyoko and Kyoto are the same.  She is a nursing teacher.  

She didn't speak too much English, though, so I couldn't ask too much.  When she told me that she was a nursing teacher, I said 'oh, so you are a professor!'.  But I don't think that she understood that. 

So, at the end of the concourse, I went through immigration.  I definitely had the sensation of being taller than everyone else.

By the time I got to the baggage claim, Kyoko had caught her train, which was fine, as I had told Yoko to tell Kyoko that she should not miss her train just to shepherd me around.

I was able to store my bags at the airport, and get a round trip train ticket (to Tokyo) with help from the information counter.  Contrary to what Yoko had told me, I could get a train directly to Shibuya from the airport.

I was really thirsty, so I decided to get a drink from a vending machine on the platform.  I bought a milk tea, a drink that my sister and mom had drunk (drank?) in Hawaii.  Really milky and sweet. A potion of fat and sugar.  To my surprise it came out hot!  The moral of the paragraph: Japanese vending machines are capable of dispensing of hot beverages.  Remember that the next time you find yourself in Tokyo.  

I was still thirsty so I got what I thought was a green tea.  Instead, it was a drink (cold as expected) that tasted like a mixture of bad weak coffee and water flavored with sticks and leaves, like you might see in a puddle on a  hiking trail. I didn't actually didn't finish it that night, and had to chug  it in the airport security line the next day.

So.

I was quite impressed by the train when it arrived. It was seriously shiny and sleek; like something out of those 80s Tron movies, or something.

 You have to get onto the correct car, because they split off en-route to head to different places in Japan. A major example of how advanced and integrated the country is. The train smoothly came to a stop with the doors at locations exactly as indicated by the signs on the platforms.  

The train ride to Shibuya was pretty uneventful.  It was pretty dark, so I could not see too much.  I guess that that in itself says something about Japan: relatively poor lighting in the countryside or something.  Somehow, or other, though I struck up a conversation with a guy who had been sitting near me (once again getting lucky with someone speaking English).  His name was Tomo, and as of this moment I forget what he does for a living.  Anyway, we just started talking, and I mentioned that I wanted Ramen, and he said that he would show me his favorite Ramen place in Shibuya.  It was also lucky that I met him because it was slightly complicated to walk out of Shibuya station.  Anyway, the view out of Shibuya station is pretty dazzling.  Yes, there are bright signs like in Times square, but what is even more amazing is known as 'the scramble'.  It is basically a huge intersection of  a few busy streets and sidewalks, where, when it is time to cross, they stop traffic in all directions, so that pedestrians can cross from corner to corner as well as from side to side.  What results is an amazing sea of people.  Tomo took pictures of me right there (soon to be posted), and you can tell from my face that I was pretty amazed.

So, we walk through the streets of Shibuya, going to this Ramen place.  They are narrow, streets exclusively for pedestrians, and there are restaurants and stores everywhere that all look pretty amazing.  He kept on saying 'This Ramen place is really good too'.  Evidence of the high Ramen quality in Japan.  Japan is, afterall, where Ramen comes from.

When we get to the place, it is a very crowed soup counter extending around a kitchen where you can see them making the soup.  Interestingly, the soup chefs were all wearing rain boots, and  would dump hot noodle water onto the ground from time to time.  There was an interesting ordering system; you selected your meal and paid at a vending machine outside the restaurant, got a ticket, and handed it to the staff inside.  Tomo asked me what I wanted, and I told him to pick what he would get if he was super hungry.

It was a big bowl of soup with many pieces of sliced pork belly.  Really good.  There was this kimchi-like scallion garnish on the counter that was really good in the soup, too.

Tomo left me when I got my soup, and confirmed that the mysterious hotel that Yoko had mentioned on the plane was a place that I could stay.  He also gave me a CD of music that he composed; it is pretty good; a mixture of electronic beats, violin and piano, listening to it this moment as i write.  It has his email address, so I will certainly contact him soon and thank him for helping me.

So, afterwards I just start wandering the streets of Shibuya, with no particular goal in mind.   I occasionally ask about this 'NetCafe' place, and people occasionally point me in a direction, but I always see something interesting and veer off. 

So, I just have, in general, a good time seeing everything.  This is where my memory gets a teeny bit foggy about what specifically I did that night.  Not that I was tipsy or anything, that comes later.  I was just sort of wandering around, not doing anything in particular, because everything was interesting.  Even convenience stores are interesting in foreign countries.  What I talk about from now on will be heavily decided by what I took photos of.  Here is a picture of another milk tea that I got in a 7-11.  They are simply called 'Seven' in Japan.  I can see why, as it would be cruel to the Japanese and damaging to the brand to have a store name that requires differentiation between the 'L' and 'R' sound.  It is meaningful to me, because I had drank (drunk?) that brand of milk tea in China, it tasted really good, so I had been looking forward to another bottle for a few years.  Note Donald Duck on the bottle.

I took a walk through one of the ubiquitous slot machine Casinos in this neighborhood, with childishly bright lights and fast paced musack, like you might expect in a Chuck-E-Cheese.  For anyone who was a child in the nineties, except for my cousins the Levines, this description will bring up images of a certain casino in Celadon city acting as a front for a criminal organization, headquartered in the basement.

All of the restaurants look amazing; very small places, tucked away into basements.  It was fun just looking at them. What is more, the people inside were all Japanese, not tourists.  My parents mentioned a tiny soup place in NYC that they were shown by my cousins.  Mom, Dad, picture every restaurant being like that.
I even see a really clean looking Sushi place, like the kind that Jiro has.  I didn't go in.  I didn't even have any sushi in Japan, except for in the airport the next day, and that sushi was even better than any American sushi that I had had.  I actually had a small confrontation with them; somehow they thought that I had ordered twice the sushi I really asked for.  When they brought it out, I motioned that I did not want it.  They called me a gaijin.  Sryslay, I don't begrudge them for not speaking English, but don't call your customers derogatory names when there is a miscommunication in an international airport.  But I digress.

At some point I find an internet cafe.  A huge one that takes up a ten story building.  Open 24-7.  And I realize; I am supposed to sleep in the internet cafe. I guess it shows my expectation that the Japanese would give something a weird name. Hotel NetCafe? Seriously? I walk back to the train station, but get lost. Drats.

As I am walking around, looking for this place, I see these rows of rather small buildings, in contrast with the surrounding skyscrapers.  I take a duck down the Alley, and find a bar that is literally smaller than the single dorm room that I am writing from in Singapore.

 Before going in, I point to the bar, and ask to a passerby 'Gaijin?' (the Japanese word for Gringo), to see if it was OK for Westerners to go in there.  I guess I was intimidated by how traditionally Japanese these buildings seemed.  He pointed at the building and said 'Enjoy'. I asked for a Sake. This was the first time that I had ever had that beverage.  It was quite good; really tasted as I would expect rice wine to taste.  It is very interesting to me that they make a wine from a grain.  Why can't we westerners make wine from, say, wheat?    It tasted distinctly like wine, definitely not like beer or hard alcohol.  Very smooth and refreshing.  In the course of charging my iPhone, and chatting with the bar tender, I got directions to an internet cafe.  The bar-tender informs me that these old buildings are from the 1950s
; a true relic among the modern buildings.

He points me to a different internet cafe.  On the way there, I get some  more Ramen.  And get cheated out of $20 (2000 Yen).    I want to say more, and explain, but it has been a week in Singapore already, and this post is long enough.  I will update it later.  Classes have started, and it is time to put my nose to the grindstone.

At some point I see a video of a Japanese boy band that seems like it is straight out of the 90s (above).

Again, I just want to get this post out there, I will fill in the details later.