Japan: Day 14

Disclaimer: I was not in Japan for a year. I was there for 17 days, from September 1st through the 18th of 2008. I understand that most of the people who enjoyed this blog ceased to care about eight months ago, when I basically gave up on it. So this is mostly for me; I'd like to be able to read about this trip when I'm older.

I finished each of the remaining days of the blog before posting this. Everything is 100% done, formatted, and ready to publish. I'm going to post days 15 and 16 tomorrow. I sincerely hope you enjoy the blog, regardless of how long it took me to complete it.

Kevin and Joe's apartment was tiny. In square feet, the entire place was about the same size as my bedroom. Across from the bathroom, a small kitchenette was crammed into the entryway. One of the two burners on the minuscule stove top was covered by an aluminum pie pan with a book on top of it. "Is this one broken or something?" I asked.

"Oh, no, we trapped a really big roach under there. We're waiting for him to die," said Kevin.

The main living space featured two Japanese futons separated by such a small gap that Kevin and Joe could have held hands while they slept. A couple TV trays with laptops on them and an assortment of empty drink bottles littering the floor rounded out the apartment. I could see why the duo had been reluctant to have me stay with them; there was barely enough room for one person, let alone two. Nevertheless, we watched a movie in the early hours of the morning and, without having slept, headed off to the Tsukiji fish market at 5:00 AM.

I have one piece of advice for visitors to the Tsukiji fish market: pack light. Because I did not intend on returning to Kevin and Joe's apartment after our visit to the market, I brought my swollen backpack with me. The lazy drizzle of rain from the night prior had persisted into the morning. I was left trying to juggle an umbrella and my backpack as we navigated the crowded, narrow pathways of the enormous market. Everywhere were fishmongers riding recklessly around the market on small carts and pallet jacks, screaming at each other to make way. Men in knee-high rubber boots were were feeding whole fish through band saws and using four-foot-long knives to portion sides of tuna. I wouldn't say we were unwelcome as much as I would say that we were really, really unwelcome. The purveyors and customers alike were there to conduct business, not indulge the whims of a trio of sleep-deprived tourists. We wandered the market for an hour or so before locating a nearby sushi restaurant and setting in for breakfast.

This picture perfectly sums up our reception at the market. Look at that man's expression.

Thankfully, Kevin and Joe were adventurous eaters. To me, a really great meal is one in which I get to sample a bite of everything on the table, regardless of whether or not I ordered it. Yes, I'm one of those people. We must have ordered at least ten different varieties of sushi, along with something I just had to try: horse sashimi. It wasn't bad, but I'd be lying if I said I wouldn't have preferred a nice beef carpaccio. The horse had a slight gamy flavor, and it was so lean that it was less tender than I had anticipated. Still, it was an integral part of a fantastic meal.

After breakfast, Kevin, Joe, and I separated. They went home to sleep, and I went to an internet cafe to, well, sleep. $15 bought me eight hours of time in a snug cubicle, along with all-I-could-drink hot and cold beverages. I grabbed a barley tea and took a few t-shirts out of my backpack to use as a pillow.

When I awoke, my first thought was, "Where the hell am I?" It took me a few moments to get my bearings in the dark of the cafe. I chugged a few more drinks, checked my email, and went looking for a hotel in Shibuya, one of the swankier neighborhoods of Tokyo. During the day, Shibuya seemed remarkably human. Yes, fashionable young couples were casually strolling, ice cream in hand, browsing the many boutiques, but daylight subdued the neon and gave the place a certain homeyness. I found a lovely hotel just a short walk from the busy streets and... slept for another four hours.

When I awoke this time, however, I was ready to go. The endless refrain I had heard from travelers and travel guides alike was that the night life in Roppongi, another neighborhood of Tokyo, was not to be missed. I showered, put on the one and only collared shirt I had packed, and gave myself a spritz of cologne. Roppongi, I thought, nodding my head slightly from the excitement of it all as I scrutinized my appearance in the hotel mirror. Tonight was going to be awesome.

I strolled to the metro station took a moment to glance at the map on the wall; I was pretty comfortable with the metro at this point. I noted that I needed to take the Hanzomon Line two stops and transfer to the Oedo Line at Aoyama-itchome. Just then, a goddess appeared at my side, clad in a vibrant pink scoop-neck and a matching miniskirt that left nothing to the imagination. On her feet were knee-high black boots with five-inch heels. Straight black bangs framed her lovely visage, with the rest of her hair reaching halfway down her back. She leaned in so that her face was only six inches from mine and asked, "Where are you going?"

I swallowed and tried to keep from soiling myself. I wanted nothing more than to say, "Wherever you're going. I... I love you." Instead, I stammered, "Uh, Roppongi."

"HEY," she screamed at a metro security officer who was standing 50 feet away. The poor man looked almost as shocked as I was. My beautiful companion shouted a few more things at him, and the man went jogging towards a small office. He exited the office a few moments later and, still jogging, presented us with a metro map similar to the one on the wall. The security officer then bowed to the two of us and returned to his post. I was speechless. Who was this girl? More importantly, would she marry me?

The girl scrutinized the map for a few seconds and said, "Easiest is take Hanzomon Line to Aoyama-itchome. Then Oedo to Roppongi. Understand?"

"Yes, yes," I nodded fervently. "Thank you so much."

"Hai," she said, moving towards the exit with slow, deliberate steps befitting the height of her heels. I watched her go, overcome for a few moments by the tragedy of it all. Then I remembered where I was going: Roppongi. Things were only going to improve. The possibilities were limitless.

When I arrived at Roppongi, things did not improve. The possibilities were limitless, I supposed, but only if I wanted to sleep with a hooker. Not ten steps into the neighborhood, I was accosted by muscular African man after muscular African man promising me "tits and booze, man, no joke" if I would only come into a particular establishment. Rather than acknowledging the men and possibly having to defend my sexuality, I played the mute, walking purposely forward and giving no indication that I had heard them. One man followed me for 100 yards, constantly trying to elicit a response from me. He complimented me, told jokes, and promised me that he would look out for me tonight. "My friends would love to meet you," he said. I stayed silent.

When the man finally gave up on me, I spotted another group of ten African men on the road ahead. I had to avoid them. I crossed to the other side of the street and darted into the nearest restaurant, which happened to be Wolfgang Puck's Cafe. "Whatever," I thought. I was hungry, anyway, and there was no way I was going to brave the streets of Roppongi sober. After a pizza and a couple enormous beers, I ventured out onto the street made a beeline for the nearest bar, a dirty little establishment called Gas Panic.

Gas Panic was just about the most depressing place I'd ever seen. The lighting had a reddish hue, which indicated a certain level of danger despite the impassive crowd. Single girls were nursing drinks at the bar and glancing around from time to time to see if there was anyone worth approaching. Some unsavory guys and a few 40-year-old members of the American armed forces rounded out the mix of patrons. A sign on the wall said, "YOU MUST BE DRINKING TO STAY INSIDE GAS PANIC." I paid $7 for a tiny glass of bad beer and parked at a table.

Even the cute French waitress, whom I conversed with in her native tongue, could not make up for the horrible atmosphere and clientele. I left after only a couple beers and resolved, this time, to check out bars before ordering any drinks. But every bar I glanced into was the same, dreary setting. Maybe I had come on an off night, but I hated Roppongi. The place was hell on earth. I glanced at the time; if I hurried, I could make the last train back to Shibuya.

While waiting at a crosswalk just a block from the metro station, a rake-thin woman in a black dress approached me. "Why leaving so soon?" she asked.

"The last train is about to leave," I replied, gesturing towards the station.

"Ah, so soon, so soon!" she said. "Come with me for special Japanese massage, yes?"

"No, no. Sorry," I said. Was this crosswalk ever going to change?

"Special massage, just for you. Come on, baby. Let's just try," she said, placing her hands on my shoulders and gently going to work.

Now, I like to think of myself as a relatively thoughtful, logical human being, but I am also a man, damn it. After two weeks of hauling around a heavy backpack, her hands felt exquisite against my shoulders. I wanted nothing more than to lose myself in her capable hands, to give myself over to something that felt so incredibly right. My eyelids drooped for just a second. Then I remembered how many men she must have jerked off in her career as a Roppongi quasi-prostitute. "No, no, no," I said, moving forward. The crosswalk had finally changed.

When I arrived back at my hotel, I needed another drink. The hotel bar was nearly empty, but they had Guiness on tap. I settled into a comfortable chair and watched the bartender, using nothing but an icepick and a towel, reduce solid, foot-long cubes of ice down to drink-sized pieces. The music sounded familiar. A moment later, I realized that the bar was playing nothing but highly-stylized versions of the songs from The Legend of Zelda. "Only in Japan," I thought, finishing my Guiness and ordering another.

Japan: Day 14

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