48 Hours in Tokyo

I don’t really know what kind of situation I thought I was getting myself into. After 12 and half hours on a Delta flight from LAX, my mind was muddled and the only thing I could think about was if that was actually Tom Cruise riding a motorcycle off a cliff in the new Mission Impossible I had just watched. Was that scene analogous to my current situation? Tom Cruise flings himself off a cliff of uncertainty and danger, just as I am venturing into a completely unfamiliar part of the world to drop off cliffs (on skis). For the sake of my ego, I’m going with it. Toss me in the Kings’ Chamber in Giza and the hieroglyphs adorning the walls would have given me just as much direction as the combinations of Hiragana, Katakana, and Kanji. With the hieroglyphs, I would at least be able to identify the shape of a bird and come up with some (likely incorrect) conjecture. Thankfully the bathroom signs were easy enough to decipher and I was able to relieve myself.

The nervous rush that came with the blunt feeling of helplessness made me chuckle a little bit. Quickly, I fought a cage match in my mind between the overwhelming sensation of confusion and the exciting feeling of experiencing something new. I was able to stumble through an interaction with a luggage service worker, and I was told that my skis and suitcase would meet me at my final destination in Nozawa Onsen (they made it). An efficient luggage service to an American is just as foreign as the illegible symbols on the wall. My excitement was contested by the uncertainty brought forth by the fact that I did not understand a word she said. It was a perfect tango between the two emotions.

I met up with my friends in our hostel in Shinjuku. A quick shower had me feeling ready to attack this city with all I had. Feeling famished, I was eager to try my first bit of Japanese food.

The tight shops and bars in Golden Gai.

All I had in me ended up being an 11 pm bedtime, and eagerness to eat the native cuisine was pushed off til the next day because we ended up at a Korean BBQ. Regardless, the meal was delicious and we spent enough time out for me to get a small sense of where I was. I gorged myself on bites of Wagyu and the offals of a cow. The buttery bites of marbly meat were contrasted by the pleasantly surprising lean texture and flavor of the heart muscle. We headed into the Golden Gai area and enjoyed a few beers in charming bars the size of a small bedroom. Our bartender rocked a cyan sweatshirt that said New York on it. She had never been, but I got a “Go Yankees” out of her anyway. This brought up the subject of Shohei Otahni, who un unbeknownst to us at the time was on the cusp of signing a deal making him slightly less valuable than the GDP of the Marshall Islands and Micronesia combined. The guy’s face was everywhere. A man at the bar was convinced he was coming home to the Tokyo Giants. I’d take him on the New York Giants even. To dream…

I almost slammed my head on the bar after nodding off, a sign that my night was over. I was wished a heartwarming goodnight by a group from Perth staying in the same hostel as us - they called me a pussy because I didn’t want to go to a techno club with them.

We got up rather early to check into our next hotel, which I was not staying in on paper. Left to explore while my friends checked in and treated themselves to the spa, I found a statue of Godzilla and enjoyed a “chocolate bread” from 7/11. It was easier to find a nuclear death lizard than it was to find a coffee. All the coffee shops I found were opening at 10:00 am and it was just 8:30. It was also easier to find a beer. I think it would be remiss to make any conjectures of a whole culture based on that observation, but as an unapologetic caffeine addict, it was the only strike Japan had going against it so far. I ended up at a restaurant chain called Yoshinoya next to a group of 3 salary men, who were content with beers being the easier find.

The 9 to 9 workers in their black suits and ties could not have been kinder to me. However tired they may have been, they graciously pointed out their favorite menu items when asked through the screen of Google Translate. They found some humor in my not knowing what a tool used for separating the white and yolk of an egg was, and I found some humor in one of them falling asleep drooling at the bar. So did his friends. My favorite question I’ve gotten so far was when the man closest to me asked why I know how to use chopsticks. It dawned on me that the bar for Americans might be even lower than I anticipated.

The Guard Tower.

Eventually, I reunited with my friends by Godzilla, and we headed to the nearby Imperial Palace. These grounds used to be home to Edo Castle, where the Tokugawa dynasty governed from. I was flung into the pages of a James Clavell novel that had just taken me the better part of a year to read. If you don’t want to spend days of your life reading the (honestly very epic) story of an Englishman washing up on the shores of Japan in 1600, check out the new TV adaptation of Clavell’s behemoth novel Shogun coming in February.

The palace grounds made me feel insignificant. This park was massive, and it provided me with the best view of Tokyo in all directions that I had yet seen. Having read the Wikipedia page on the largest cities in the world at least 7 times since I turned 10 (gotta stay up to date), I was educated enough to know that I wasn’t even scratching the surface of this immense metropolis. The image of the spotless grounds and antique guard tower, with the towering skyscrapers poking behind like giants’ fingers will not soon leave my mind.

A crowded street at Tsukiji.

The rest of the day was spent eating and napping. I go deeper into what I consumed in my other post. We ate lunch at a Tonkatsu restaurant Kanda Ponchiken, and it was phenomenal. With a belly full of love, we decided to test our limits at the fish market. I consumed the biggest and meatiest oyster of my life, some Uni, and several other creatures that formerly dwelled in the Ocean. This fish market was far and away the most tourist-heavy location I visited. I didn’t mind, and neither should you if you visit. I could spend a whole day there eating succulent crustaceans and waiting in line for alien-looking octopus crackers. Despite the heavy tourist population, it’s a must-visit location full of food at a price and quality unseen in the US. Bloated, slow, and satisfied, we got some shut-eye to carry us through the long night ahead.

Teppanyaki to Japan is as Hibachi is to the US. The noticeable difference is the lack of theatrics. There was no wagyu flung into my mouth, no knife tricks, no failed attempts to crack the egg on the spatula. There was, however, an artistically plated course of seared foie gras and daikon radish, with a shoyu sauce drizzled around it that ranks high on my list of things that ended up in my belly. Our group was rattled awake by endless rounds of “kanpai!” and once again, I found myself bloated, slow, and satisfied. I might turn that into an acronym. BSS.

Napping this time was off the table. MJ tongue, Kobe scowl, LeBron in a cloud of baby powder, it was time to put ourselves up against this goliath of a city, and see what the nightlife was like. Early on in our contest, Tokyo took the lead. I think you could blame it on lack of preparation. Perhaps not enough film was studied. Our group of 10 brazen Americans was not enough for the sheer numbers of this place. Nearly every bar we attempted to go to was full, despite trying places 4,5, and even 8 stories up. Of course, we ended up in a beer-pong-themed bar but diverted our attention to jenga instead of throwing balls in cups. It was time for the real test, a night at 1 OAK, the Tokyo iteration of the high-rolling nightclub seen also in New York, LA, Dubai, and Shanghai.

I wouldn’t recommend this place. The music was eerily reminiscent of dances I partook in in middle school, but, it is crazy how little you end up caring about that when Grey Goose with fun little fireworks are coming out every other minute, and some insane American named Frank is sliding you shots of Casa Azul like a Jaliscan water fountain personified. Fun was had. Drinks were consumed. Jerseys might have been swapped post-game. I made it 20 minutes behind the DJ booth before being told to leave. Best 20 minutes of my fricking life.

I believe there are moments when traveling in a foreign country when it is shameful to cave into an American fast food chain. I also believe that there are moments in which passes are most certainly given. When a Wendy’s is directly across the street from my hotel, the sunlight makes me feel like the descendant of a Vampire, and everything is spinning just a tiny bit, I give myself a pass. The feeling of inhaling that “Classic USA Burger” provided me with an inkling of what Shohei Ohtani must have felt like signing that contract. By this time, he was valued at just as much as DC United. We were both winners in that delicate moment.

Dogs out and overstimulated in TeamLabs.

I had about 8 hours left in this place, and ample time to think about it in the ear-splitting silence of the Tokyo subway. The only thing I could hear was the piercing thoughts of my vicious hangover. Wisely, we stepped into a sensory overload machine at TeamLabs. I was stumbling through milky water, embracing giant puffy white balls (Michael Scott would be trying his best right now), and spinning in a 360º dome of digital falling flower petals. I would absolutely love to return to this place when it doesn’t induce a slight feeling of nausea.

Having already given myself a pass, I skipped on the McDonalds some of the group elected to eat at, although I did try a bite of a shrimp burger. It was probably the wrong moment in time to go for that, but I was intrigued. We then spent the afternoon perusing through what I assume is one of the many luxury shopping areas Tokyo has to offer. My time in this endless city had arrived. I gave myself enough time to enjoy a cold bowl of soba noodles in Tokyo Station and stared blankly at the many different platforms before figuring out where I needed to go.

I consistently heard a few tropes about Japan when I told people I’d be coming here. I wish I could say that in this small window, I dug below the surface of the culture and came up with some grand thesis about this amazing country, but the truth is that the things that stood out the most in my introduction to this place were things I had heard before from others. The cleanliness, the incredible and consistent acts of service and kindness, and the strict adherence to cultural norms were impossible to miss.

It felt so far distant from what I have known in America in the most positive and interesting ways. Everywhere I looked it seemed like the Tasmanian Devil had just rolled through with a spit shine moments before. This seemed even crazier when you factor in that it was genuinely impossible to find a trash can in the streets. The Japanese simply choose to stick to the cultural norm of respecting the places they live in. As an American that was hard to wrap my head around. The acts of service I speak of can be summed up by workers quite literally running ahead of you so that an automatic door could be opened. Everywhere I went I was greeted with kindness and smiles.

I don’t think I’ll ever be not be baffled by these things during my time here, but I hope to eventually dig deeper into this culture than the amazement brought forth by the absence of cigarette butts lying on the streets of a city of smokers. I hope to etch away at the face-value shocks and learn what makes the heart of this place beat, and I feel lucky to have the opportunity to do so.

And my god the food is so damn good.