1) The Train
Having heroically harvested the information from the trainers--including the insight that perhaps the ways of the past would not be best in the world of the future--and freed for the long forever of a month and a half from their bonds, I decided that I was destined for destitution. So, grabbing a fist full of fivers I gallantly set off for Tokyo, the city where nobody sleeps--except on the subway--and nobody speaks English--except for the road signs and citizens. Joining me on this journey was my comfy companion and greatest guide, The Aussie, whose knowledge of this languid labyrinth proved invaluable and ensured that we won the day. But standing in our way was the first obstacle: The Omya train station. But what's this? The Aussie knew the way through, knew just what to look for and, just like the trope, knew that friend was color coded blue--at least this day--and so we boarded the blue line. But how were we to pay for such an extravagant carriage? Modern travel technology held the answer, with this (trumpets: do, do-do, dooo do, ddddoooooooo):
A Suica card. For merely $5 US, you too can hold in your hand the power of instant transport. The Japanese rail is unlike that back home. Unlike in the most western of western continental contiguous coasts (Alaska not included, please call your local Russia for details) The Japanese charge not by abstract time, but by concrete distance. Want to go from here to there? Five-hundred yen. Wish to go from hither to thither? One-seventy five! Sans a card you must know your destination, punch it in, and pay before you play. But with a card, the world is your slightly smoggy omelet. So, there we were, free to go, on the blue line of liberation!
2) Shinjuku
We eventually made our way to the heart of the city, to Tokyo Station itself. My guide, though skilled in most of the city, was at a loss for this place, for she had never been. As such, we wandered, seeking for the transfer line that we so desperately needed. Instead, we exited out into the city, and what a sight it was to behold, for we had found the secret nesting ground of the Taxi. In rows, they sat, guarding their young and waiting for an unsuspecting passenger in need of assistance. While reasonable in price, the train is still cheaper for the wary, and so we carefully stayed back. Across from us was a huge building and, emblazoned on the side, was a poster that simply said: Tokyo 2020. Ah, a perfect vision, and one easily understood by the five rings above the missive. A global event, a chance to showcase to the world while bankrupting the country; indeed, their was much hope that day that the games of Olympus would come to Fuji. Having observed to our fill, we turned around to find that the building was not some simple hovel to house the train, nay, nothing of that sort. Rather, it stretched from side to side and, in my dazed state, seemed to rival Versailles in sheer audacity. Truly, a magnificent sight to behold, so much so that, holding her communication device on high, my guide procured an image etched in time.
We then re-entered the building and, low and behold, our portal had been behind us the whole time! Sensing the familiar vibrations, my guide rushed ahead--I had to contend myself with small glances at this exciting new world passing by--to bring us onto the green line: Yamanote. Out of all the rails in Tokyo, the Yamanote is special simply because it travels in a loop, allowing one to see the city through glass, then return to their original destination. We rode this line for many stops, my guide filling my head with stories of her past, until we arrived at a place called Shinjuku.
Ah, Shinjuku, you appeared at first so droll, and then so vibrant. Upon arriving, we met with a friend of my guide, a native from her home who had gone native in this area. He proceeded to lead us through the twisting and turning maze of the station; right became left, up became down, hallways into stairs until we burst forth again into the world, though a world very much unlike any that I had experienced since my youth, for surrounding us on all sides were buildings whose very top seemed to stretch into the kingdom of heaven itself. Oh, but we had no time for observation here, no, for we had a destination. Though it was too early for lunch by their reckoning, there was a way to get an amazing view of the city, so we were off. Over streets and under bridges we went, passing incredible architecture on the way. One such building, a monument of steel and glass, turned out to be a famous school for the arts, though its name escapes me at the moment. Our new guide mentioned that there were others just like it, all of them art schools, but that this was the first. I must admit that I mused whether those others were where the knock off artists learned their trade.
Finally, we found our way to the Government Metropolitan Building, which has two observation decks that one can visit--one to the north, and one to the south. We went up the southern, hoping to see a view of Mount Fuji, but alas, we did not. Tokyo, we could see, was a city that stretched out to the horizon and beyond, and a city that big, a city with so many people, cannot hope to operate in the modern age without a change in the atmosphere. Aside from an increasing temperature, Tokyo is plagued by smog. On a good day, the smog clears, and Fuji can be seen far off to the west--such days, I am told, are often after a typhoon has passed through. On the other days, a haze holds firm over the city, obscuring all view of that far away majesty.
Following our visit to the tower, we were off to lunch, which resided on the other end of the station. Quick as a whip, our guide had us through, and soon enough we were sitting in a restaurant that served a delightful bit of local cuisine known as monjayaki. Yaki, you see, refers to anything that is fried or grilled; a trait displayed by the fact that, in this restaurant, the customer prepares the food utilizing a grill located in the middle of the table. To do so, one first orders the desired toppings, which are then brought by a waitress. We ordered ham, cheese, mochi, and kimchi [a kind of Korean spice]. The ingredients are then stir fried to perfection, at which point one brings them into the shape of a ring. Batter is then poured into the middle of the ring, and the hapless tourist spends the next few minutes attempting to keep as much batter as possible in the middle of the ring. Once it finishes cooking, I noted that it took on a most unappetizing appearance; so unappetizing, in fact, that my insides recoiled at the very thought of ingesting this strange dish. However, it is the duty of every explorer to sample the surrounding culture, which in this case just happened to have the appearance--and rough consistency--of some kind of sludge. So, dutifully, I tried a bite...and then another, and another. While the mochi was not the greatest in terms of taste, and the ham was out of the question for me, the cheese and the kimchi proved surprisingly enjoyable. All in all, I should note, I enjoyed the meal immensely and left happily filled. We then walked back to the train station, where we parted ways with my guides fellow national, and set off on the green line again for a place called Harajouku.
3) Harajouku
How best to describe Harajouku? Imagine a small town, with its quaint looking little station. You imagine that a train will com though, maybe, once every few days, and you know that the most exciting thing that everyone's talking about happened on a Thursday no more recent than three years ago. You notice the park sitting next to the station, and hear that it contains a shrine to a now-dead ruler. You picture it as a quaint but venerable place secluded in a glen at the end of a short dirt trail. Keep that image, and imagine that, across the street where city hall should be with the small boys in front in their overalls playing kick the can, there instead lies a ginormous white building, its insides chock full of the newest fashion. Welcome to Harajouku, home to some of the most expensive shops, one of the largest shrines, and Takeshitadori street.
That last, actually, was our first destination. It's only a few blocks away from the station, though street might be too large a descriptor. It's more like a glorified alley, and I was told, while walking to it, that it was one of the most crowded places in all of Tokyo. This is the place where the cute, the weird, and the fantastic intersect. Instantly, my agoraphobia starts to act up, and I feel as though I'm about to step into a roller coaster. But, when in Rome...so onwards we went. Sure enough, the moment we stepped into the street, any illusion of personal space vanished. people were packed in from wall to wall, though according to my guide this was a slow day. It reminded me of Diagon Alley, with all of the fantastic shops, flashy colors, and excited people. We passed shops for all of the major nerddoms of Japan, and shops that sold to the eccentrics as well. We even passed a shop whose brand was apparently to put the word, "fetish" on as many clothing items as possible in as many grammatically correct sentences as possible. However, it was all tastefully done and, as such, completely inoffensive.
The main draw for us, however, were the crepes. Takeshitadori street is apparently famous for them, and the two shops that sell them are smack dab in the middle, bordering an intersecting alleyway. My guide purchased one with bananas, oreos, and whipped cream; all drizzled in chocolate. Mine was far more traditional: strawberries and whipped cream, but also with the chocolate. So we stood and ate as we watched the crowds go by--it is considered quite rude in Japan to eat while walking, and equally rude to drink anything but water while walking. What an interesting group they were, people of all shapes and sizes smiling, laughing, and acting carefree. Out of all the places that we visited that day, Takeshitadori street sticks in my mind as the happiest and most joyful.
Exiting the street, we intersected with one of the main drags of this area of Tokyo; all of it completely lined with high end shops. Even the McDonalds seemed to cater to a different crowd; it appeared the kind of place where you lost $100 just by window shopping, the kind of place where that kind of money is pocked change. Needless to say, while we did indeed walk along the street, we did not linger.
Instead, our next destination was the park next to the station; a park which goes by the moniker Yoyogi. Remember that cute little shrine from our image? I am sure that it exists somewhere in Japan, but this is not it. The gate stretches up at least three stories, and is succeeded by a long, broad path that winds through the trees. Upon reaching the shrine itself, we purified ourselves, went inside, and were treated to a rare sight indeed: a traditional Japanese wedding procession. I cannot fathom the cost to have a wedding in the Meji Shrine, but I wish the couple all the luck anyway. He was dressed fairly traditionally, which translates to being rather sensible. She, on the other hand, was in a set of traditional clothing that must weigh at least five kilos and was probably blazingly hot inside. I do not envy her that choice. Once the procession was past, we paid our respects to the sanctuary--a note to tourists, do not take a picture directly into the shrine, it is considered enormously sacrilegious--and received a fortune. I must say that both of the shrines I have visited have left me with an immense sense of calm and happiness. They are, on the whole, places of worship and tranquility, and I urge anyone who visits them to respect that fact.
Suffering from the heat, we made our way back from the shrine only to stop midway at the cafeteria of the Meji museum to dine on one of his favorite treats: shaved ice (read: snow cones). Apparently, when foreign dignitaries or other such important guests were to be entertained at the imperial palace, the Meji emperor would send a servant (or perhaps several, my readings on that have been fuzzy) up to mount Fuji, to collect ice from above the snow line. The ice was then brought back to the palace, where it was served to guests. To me, it just tasted like a snow cone: cold, sugary, and, on a day like that, instantly refreshing.
-Told going to most crowded place in all of Tokyo, where all the cute, weird, and fantastic is. Agoraphobia acting up, feel like going on roller coaster.
-Go onto Takeshitadori street, immediately surrounded by people on all sides. Zero personal space. Apparently, this was a light day. Surrounded by so many bright, colorful shops. Pass a bright pink 100 yen shop. Go into the Hello Kitty store. Go into a store with, "interesting" labels on clothing. Get a crepe--apparently this street is famous for them. Mine = Strawberries, whipped cream, and chocolate. Friends = Bananas, oreos, whipped cream, and chocolate. They are amazing. I learn that it is rude to walk and eat/ drink, except for water. Continue down street, pass shop after shop. Information overload. Pass Pinklite store; great place, apparently for girly things.
-Exit onto huge street with expensive stores on all sides. Apparently a hoity-toity place to shop.
-Go back to station, then go into Yoyogi Park to see the Meji shrine.
-See wedding at shrine and pay respects at shrine.
-Have shaved ice (snow cone), apparently one of the Meji emperor's favorite treats to give to foreign dignitaries.
-Get back on train, and get off at...
4) Hamamatsucho
-So excited. This is where I've wanted to go all day, because about a block away is the one...the only...Pokemon Center.
-Spend happy time in store. Buy things, such as:
-Realize while in Pokemon Center that I am done and want to go home now, but friend wants to keep doing things, so don't mention it and keep onwards.
-Leave Pokemon Center. Pilgrimage complete.
-Walk to Tokyo Tower (Space Needle meets Eiffel Tower), see Spanish bar along the way. Be amused, but don't go in.
-Go up Tokyo Tower (150 meters). See view of Tokyo and slight view of Tokyo Disney. Both seem to go on forever. Note that some windows are covered. Why?
-Go up to special observation deck (250 meters). Realize that city just doesn't end. Feel small by fact that, in the grand cosmic sense of things, this never-ending urban sprawl is just a tiny blip of nothingness.
-Walk to metro station.
5) Akihabara (Akhiba)
-Get to Akhiba on the metro line.
-Find curry place just outside of metro line. Quite good, had an Omelet and curry.
-Be awed and amazed by Akhiba (and a little disturbed).
-Continuously say no to fliers by Japanese women scantily clad (hither to sclad) in maid outfits. Ignoring their very puzzled and confused looks, the universe turned on.
-Go to Kotobukiya, and realize that this is what anime heaven must look like.
-Feel a little awkward that I have no idea what any of this stuff is.
-Leave Akhiba--nerdvana--for the train station.
6) Omya (homeward bound)
Get on for nice ride home. Let guide have first open seat. Think scarey thoughts at women next to us, hoping that she would move so that I could sit down next to my friend. Five thoughts later, she gets off. Have pleasant ride rest of way to Omya station. Decide to ignore sea of taxis and walk back. Feel like Salmon going against the tide, as it turns out that we got back around the time that a big soccer match let out. Finally get out of flood of Orange. Make it back to training center. Hermit for rest of night.
That took me Half an hour to write, so this will be a project. Anyway, this has been another Adventure of the Austentatious. If you liked me, tell your friends; if you hated me, tell your enemies; and if you don't care one way or another, tell everyone.
Your writing is so very entertaining! Keep it up!!!
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