'Life on Mars?'

a.k.a
My First Week In Tokyo

[This post is incredibly tardy. My first week in Tokyo actually occurred about ... well, at least three weeks ago. I was hoping that hindsight would be a beautiful thing. Or that when it comes to the forest of memories, each wee memory sprout grows more poignant with age. Or ... that I have been very bad with updating this blog to date. More to come soon, I promise.]

My actual arrival in Japan, though highly anticipated, wasn’t really filled with fanfare or any particular excitement. I think it was better that way – because frankly, at the time, I was scared shitless.

I spent the bulk of my journey to Tokyo sleeping, watching episodes of crime dramas and trying not to choke to death on the cologne stench coming from the man sitting next to me. How does cologne that strong not subside, at least a little, over a 10-hour period?? It was that really horrible kind, too – the kind that is probably sold in a pack with hair gel and a thick gold chain.

Anyway, I disembarked from the plane fuzzy-headed and weak-kneed, still too nervous to even mutter a tiny ‘arigato gozaimasu’, into a pretty much deserted Narita Airport. Thankfully, airports comfort me for some freak reason, despite the abundance of solemn uniformed workers. I guess I kind of like the vibe, and these days I love anywhere that has an abundance of bilingual signage.

I was proud that I managed to make my way to my first hotel with no problems, even though a well-trained monkey probably could have done it. Pulling away from the bus depot at the airport, I had my first ‘I made it!’ moment, as I stared out the window at a little Japanese garden tucked in a fork in the road. There would be plenty more of these moments to come – one as I boarded my first train from Shinjuku Station, one as I watched a SoftBank ad on a giant video screen, and one as I successfully used my first ‘arigato gozaimasu’.

I was even more pleased when I arrived at the hotel and found it to be exceptionally nice – and further delighting me was the sheer amount of vending machines it housed, each one tucked in a special room on each floor (more on vending machines later – here in Japan they are ubiquitous, diverse and very colourful). My first meal in Japan consisted of fried chicken and an Asahi, both from vending machines. As someone lazy who loves chicken, it was about the best welcome I could have had after a long, cologne-fogged flight.

The next day, I made it into Tokyo successfully also (Narita is about an hour away), even though I tried to buy my train ticket at the wrong office and attempted to march through the wrong gate (to my credit, both times I realised my mistake before I completely embarrassed myself). Huzzah, I was on my way!


[Megmilk. Gold.]

***
A few nights after I arrived, I ventured to a bar in Shibuya where there was a film night happening. What better to brighten the spirits of a cinephile lost in an unknown city than some independent film and beer?? The films themselves were a mish mash of offerings – one film, though well-executed, was so shocking and edgy that I choked a little on my $10 Corona. Luckily, I actually spent much of the evening talking about science-fiction, Titus Andronicus, vampires, life in Japan, and why Martin Scorsese is so fantastic with two extremely lovely New Yorkers, big guys that wouldn’t have been out of place in rap videos but who were very friendly and very funny. After $20 worth of weak foreign beer and a quesadilla or two, I ran back to the station to catch the last train feeling as though I’d skipped over a little personal hurdle.

***
About a day later, I was wandering around looking for this Alice in Wonderland goth-themed bar and waiting to cross one of the main roads when I saw two guys from my flight – in the middle of Tokyo! I remember them only because I was behind them in the check-in line, so had spent a good half hour staring at the back of their heads. One of them looked like he should play an evil janitor in a teen drama and rarely changed his expression, except to switch from moderately surly to extremely surly.

Who’d have thought – me, Evil Janitor and his friend, meeting again days later on a crossing in Shinjuku! It comforted me, his surly familiar face, just as I was starting to get frustrated with the big city. But Tokyo is still Tokyo – and after I walked past the same Halloween costume store for the fifth time, map crumpled in frustration, I gave up on finding the bar.

***
After a week in Tokyo, it didn’t take me long to master getting around my little area, nor to discover that the glue that holds together life in Japan is convenience stores. I watched plenty of Japanese television (is everything a variety show?!), clutched every single map I could find as though it was the eighth Harry Potter book, ate shabu-shabu at a cute little restaurant and drank beer in an ‘American-style’ bar in Golden Gai. I even figured out my favourite spot to stand on the train - the little nook by the door, because I can lean against the end of the seat and am less likely to fall over onto the floor whenever the train moves. How do these girls in high heels stay balanced as the train jerks around, while not even holding the hand rails?! I tried some horrible "Cheetos" (read: weird-tasting cheese powder on weird-tasting puff things), and vowed to find a cheese powder snack more to my liking. Cheeza, a cheesy biscuit thing, is currently the front-runner.

I remembered that when getting off the train at Shibuya there is a larger gap between the train and the platform (I think I saw Gandalf falling down it), that the turnoff to my hotel was marked by a Mister Donut, and what the kanji for ‘yen’ is (yay! I know how to buy stuff!). I also made countless salespeople think I was a total dimwit – imagine someone smiling blankly and silently at you as you ask them if they want a bag or if a certain price is okay, only to have them shove handfuls of money at you, grab the goods and sing out ‘thank you very much!’ while bolting away. I did grow tired of constantly looking the fool during simple interactions, but that’s something I knew was likely to happen when I decided to come here. And hey, everyone has to look like an idiot sometimes. It keeps you modest.

So in conclusion, I enjoyed my brief introduction to Tokyo. I wandered happily around my neighbourhood, past the telltale beautiful men that loitered outside host clubs – recognisable due to their similar trendy hairdos, black waistcoats, tight pants and pointy shoes. I loved the familiar thok of the batting cages near my hotel – the whiz of baseballs flying about, the crack of the bat, the sight of a salaryman smashing a particularly satisfying ball always made me smile. [On a sidenote, is it wrong that I think batting cages are totally awesome? And that I would think it was a totally cool, rather than completely lame, place to go on a date? I suspect so. I put this down to many hours of watching The Sandlot Kids as a child – although A League of Their Own has to take its fair share of the blame.]

Thank you Mister Donut, for always helping me to recognise where to turn left. Thank you to the person who invented maps, and all of the companies that publish said maps, and all the stores that sell maps to people like me who can’t find their way left or right without a little assistance. Thank you to the man in front of me who made me realise that you need to press that little button on the electric door to make it open, after two nights of me standing in front of the door in utter confusion. And lastly, thank you David Bowie - for your flamboyant tones, for your son (who just directed celluloid sci-fi awesomeness, see: Moon) and for being the opening soundtrack to my Japan adventure, accompanying me through excessive cologne, baggage claim, homesickness, neon lights, and rows and rows of machines that vend everything from coffee in a can to mandarins.

[I tried to find the ad for Cheeza online... it involves a Japanese celebrity lounging about, looking attractive and eating Cheeza, before finally declaring 'I love Cheeza'. Instead I found this ad. Quality.]