Tokyo with Evan

Ladies and germs, Gents and lacrima, I welcome you back to the blog. Damn, it's been a minute since I put up the last piece of this adventure. But hey, as long as it gets done.

-- Begin tangentially related note
The older I get, and the more time I spend on this Earth, the more experiences I accumulate...blah blah blah other ways of describing the passage of time... I believe more and more that my family motto was ingrained somewhere in my genetic code, as if a stray tendril of fate got lost and wrapped itself around my Gs and Cs, finding the nooks between my As and Ts and tugging them ever so carefully. See, my family motto is "Sero Sed Serio," which translates into "Late but earnest." And it's true, to an extent. A lot of my family members' lives, as well as my own, have been filled with late, yet honest and earnest moments. This blog is just one craggy face on the mountain of "late but earnest" doings in my past. Sometimes, I have feelings similar to Kafka from Murakami's "Kafka on the Shore," where I have been "cursed" since birth. Of course, the curses are much, much different; I haven't slept with neither my sister (doesn't exist, actually) nor my mom. I also haven't killed my dad.

Maybe it was a bit too much to compare them? The feeling I want to express, though, is that sometimes it seems as if I sabotage myself just to follow through on this family motto. Crazy, right?

-- End tangentially related note

Well, I feel it appropriate to start this blog off saying that it might turn into a dizzying wall of text, and as such, if you need to prepare yourself (food, drink, bathroom break, medical supplies, a phone call to loved ones, etc.), do so now. Please, do so now.

Let's begin.

So I start the trip off the right, managing to get to the station with a good 2 hours before my train was scheduled to leave. For those that don't know me, that block of time may seem excessive. It's not. Similar to my family motto trailing me like an angry shadow, I have a little guy on my shoulder that convinces me to always pick the wrong fucking turn when walking somewhere. Literally every time. I would blame myself for my lack of direction, but at this point it's more a mystical thing than a bad habit. Even when I'm confident I'm usually wrong. Even when I think, "Okay, I'm probably wrong, so I'll pick the opposite of what I thought," I'm still wrong. Even when I ask strangers for help, I always seem to ask the wrong ones. So yeah, 2 hours is what I needed to navigate the halls of the Kanazawa train station.

After figuring out where I would actually be departing from, I got some cocoa, tossed my bag over my shoulder and took the steps up to the platform two at a time. Something you may not know about Japanese train stations: they have "natural" soundtracks playing over the speaker system, mimicking wild birds and sounds of nature. Really disorienting when you don't realize it's just the sound system and you keep trying to find the small, wild thing that should have presumably dropped frozen dead from its bough during this season of the year.

Moving on. I board the train, find my assigned seat, plop down, put on my music, and let my peepers scratch the back of my eyelids for a good 3 hours. (Pro-tip: listen to Bonobo) At the final stop, everyone got their belongings together, marched off the train, and then broke into a hustle for the transfer. What sleeping beauty here didn't realize was that because of poor weather the train was behind schedule, meaning the transfer at this station would be a squeeze. I only realized this when I saw everyone hauling ass through the turnstiles trying to make it to the the right track. However, thanks to my size, decent speed, and lack of morals, I bowled through the lines of limping grandfathers, pregnant women, small children, college kids, and station workers, leaving a wake of angry shaking fists and children that could not be mollified. But whatever, I was able to clinch my seat on the bullet train to Tokyo just in time. OH YEAH, I RODE THE BULLET TRAIN.

It's phenomenal in two senses. The first being how fast it really is. Similar to lift-off on an airplane, you can feel the acceleration as the seat, going ever so slightly faster than your body, pushes against your back. The second sense being how phenomenally underwhelming it was. Outside of the physical sensation, I didn't get much out of the trip since the majority of it was through a tunnel that cut off all outside references, preventing me from getting a good idea of how neck-snappingly, whiplash-inducingly fast we were actually going. It was a big ol' black space staring back at me saying, "Hey, right now you're just gonna have to trust that this train is actually moving as fast as you think it is."

But no complaints here, honestly. I didn't take the bullet train for the scenery; I took it for the gosh darn SPEED, and by golly did it run.

AND THEN I ARRIVED. And it was marvelous: the scramble off the train, the hundreds of people sloughing off the disheveled mask of a traveler as they donned some genuine happiness at finally arriving, as well as the cool, refreshing air. And it was there that I bumped into Mina, who you might remember from past stories (she was the girl I flubbed some Japanese with near the beginning of my study here, confusing "Let's hang out more," with, "Can I date you? Can I get your number? The back of your head is...."). Regardless, we ran into each other. She was shocked, I was shocked. The train conductor even let out an, "eeeeEEEEEHHHHHHH, Is that you?" kind of sound. And yeah. After a quick hello and exchange of info about where we were staying (who, what, where, when, etc.), we parted to head to our respective crash pads for the week, with me taking the Maruonichi line out of Tokyo station, and her some other one (can't be bothered to remember)

* Note for those visiting Tokyo *
The Tokyo subway system is marvelously easy. And even if you make a mistake when buying a ticket or don't know where to go, someone will be there to help you out. Honestly, just shrug your shoulders and scrunch up your face while looking at the train map and someone with half-broken English yet whole-hearted eagerness will ask you if you would like some help.
* I digress *

After a hop, skip, and OH-GOD-DON'T-FALL-DOWN-THE-STAIRS-YOU-JUST-GOT-HERE, I was opening the door to my hotel room, where Evan was presumably staying.

Wait, what? "Who's Evan?" you ask? Let me break it down.

Evan is a best pal/friend/lover/paramour/buddy of mine from my hometown of Hastings. To be honest, we weren't always friends. When I first met the guy in the 6th grade I was a monster of an asshole to him for no good reason. To make matters worse, I happened to meet him soon after he moved into Hastings, so potentially some of his earlier memories of the place, as well as our beginnings, are tarred black. However, time heals all things, and luckily my juvenile/intentionally hurtful streak faded and whatever hurt feelings he may have had were sanded away. And, somehow or other, we were able to meet up again later in high school and a forge the relationship that we have now. Life gives ya second chances every now and then. (Sometimes you just look back and shake your head. "What the fuck was I doing then? Who is that kid? Shit.")

But yes. I fling the door open and there he is at the desk on his laptop. In the following moments, a few things happened: my body tensed; Evan jumped onto the bed; I gulped; Evan jumped off the bed and hugged me; I almost collapsed. However, neither of us lost our cool in the ensuing wobbly, shaky embrace, and we eventually straightened out and had what you might call a majestic fucking hug.

"It's been a while."
"How are you."
"Shit, man."
"I've missed ya."
"We're in Tokyo together."
"Awesome."

The hug said a lot of things, but those I think were most apparent. After a moment, we were standing side by side, smiling something stupid, deciding what to do next. FOOD. I drop my bags and we dipped from our room in search of something tasty.

We set out on foot, literally just picking a direction and following it. (hint: that's the theme for this trip). After about 20 minutes of strolling and catching up a little bit we stumbled into Roppongi, which I had no idea was so close to our hotel. After the initial shock subsided we crossed the street and happened upon a sushi restaurant that looked good enough for the first night in Tokyo. And also, this week was one that we already decided was fine to splurge on, meaning sushi seemed like a good fit. We stepped in, sat down, ordered some beer, ordered some food, and chowed down. Between mouthfuls of food we shared the skinny on what we've been up to. He had been studying his ass off in China. Lots learned, lots suffered. But, now he's legit. One of those, "best experiences I never want again" kind of things. And yeah, we finished the last of the squid we decided to split, paid the bill, and walked back to our hotel.

A little about where we were staying:

Our hotel was located in Akasaka Itchome, located about 20 minutes away from Roppongi on foot, and hella close to the subway (3-4 min on foot). The hotel itself was tucked away behind the bends of some streets off of the main strip, yet it had a comfortable air to it. The people at the desk were of course nice and helpful, but also happy. Maybe that's just be me being naive and optimistic. Regardless, they seemed relieved when they they realized that I could speak Japanese. That isn't to say their English wasn't good enough, or that they disliked speaking English, but I was one less person with which there would be miscommunication mistakes on their end. If something got messed up, it would be because I misheard or didn't understand them, not because they told it to me incorrectly.

*Resuming trip*

We might've gone to Shibuya that night to see the crossing and bop around, but I don't remember. I think we did, actually. Regardless, we ended back at the hotel sometime late-ish and decided to finish the night off with a movie and a nightcap. The Graduate was what we chose.

Mrs. Robinson. The things I would DO. The things that would be DONE. Here's to wishfully thinking I can destroy a family with summer long fling. Woooooooooo

And then, as the movie finished up, Evan and I took turns sharing the internet (only one LAN cable)  heading off to sleep at around 1AM. Oh, by the way, we were in this cramped room and had to share the same bed. We decided to upgrade and have our own beds so that our nightly idiosyncrasies wouldn't rouse the other from sleep, but that was a problem that could only be remedied the following day. For this night we scrunched up under the covers and tried to be as neighborly as possible. Sleep was had, dreams too, possibly (can't remember), and then it was morning.

After packing our shit up we went down to the desk, upgraded rooms, dropped our stuff off in the new accomodations, got breakfast at the hotel's complementary buffet style meal, and then set out for Shibuya. For those that don't know, Shibuya is one of the busiest intersections in the world. The exact figures are hard to find, but roughly 3000 people on average cross the street every green light for pedestrians. That is INSANE. And that's where we went, bopping around, people watching, drinking in the scene. 3000 PEOPLE EVERY GREEN. THAT'S CRAZY. In person it's just as stupefying.

Now something became evidently clear to me on that first day: Evan and I are not good at the typical touristy things, i.e. picking out locations beforehand, making a plan for the day, and sticking to it. The majority of the days during that trip were spent strolling with only the faintest hint of a direction, sharing stories and talking smack about the people around. Part of me thinks (and the people I've told this to sometimes agree, sometimes disagree) that we could have literally been anywhere and spent our vacation doing exactly what we did. But I say bullshit. First of all, the atmosphere of Tokyo definitely lent to the experience. There's all the people watching and gawking, the fashion and stores to bop in and out of, the various smells as your cross the doors of restaurants and bakeries and art supply shops run by little ol' ladies with backs bent at impossible angles, etc. There's also the fact that Tokyo, even being so big, still knows how to make a guy feel snug. At least, I felt that way romping through the backstreets and zigzagging over the staircases, through parking places, and hopping over tiny parks in a few bounds. The nooks and crannies. Ya know, getting lost in a big ol' metropolitan city like Tokyo just seems a little more appealing then kicking it in the sticks. I say that realizing I haven't actually ever been out to the country side before, but at the moment I'm confident that we made the right choice going to Tokyo. At least, for this part of my stay in Japan. I do have some idea cooking in the back of my noggin to bum around Japan for a bit, giving myself some alone time yet also a chance to really go somewhere that nobody knows me or really cares about me.

I digress. The first day was spent bullying our way through the crowded streets of Shibuya. At some point or another the topic of "shit to buy" came up and Evan mentioned flower print pants. More specifically, flower print plants with a black background and the flowers dispersed and in a variety of colors. Well ain't that a challenge. There's the obvious problem of finding something in his fucking size in Japan in general, let alone something that is presumably (and presumed correctly, so far at least) a piece of women's clothing. Then there's also the issue that I didn't know what the fuck "flower print" was in Japanese. Shit.

Our first stop was 109 Men's, the male counterpart to 109 Women's, a huge mall that has some chains sprinkled here and there in Japan. At the first floor I asked the first store owner I could find if he had flower pants in Japanese. Not flower print, but a good start. He gave me a bit of a bewildered look, so I asked about a pattern using flowers. He shook his head and frowned a bit, letting me know that either my Japanese was so bad he didn't want to deal with me and any potential business, or there were no pants like that in his store. Ever the confident optimist, I opted for the latter, smiled, and moved onto the next store while explaining to Evan that he didn't have them. This time, after talking to owner for a bit, I had the smarts to ask him how to actually fucking say "flower print" after he said there was nothing like that in the store. With the new phrase in hand, we started going through the stores a little bit faster, getting definite answers rather than beating around the bush with broken communication. Unfortunately, going through the stores meant that we were not successful. Shucks. After clearing all 6 floors of 109 Men's, we decided to go for broke and head over to 109 Women's, hoping they may have some sizes intended for "plus sized" women. Or, you know, at least something elastic that could be worked with.

Anyway, we trooped on, walking into 109 Women's. All of the shops are clothing stores representing a pretty large variety of modern fashion styles. I was honestly surprised by how diverse the stores were, seeing as there were at least 50+ boutiquey places to poke your nose in. This round we had some more interesting experiences, ranging from stifled laughs to quick 1-2 lookovers when we asked for flower pants. One store almost came close, yet the size just wasn't right. The biggest one they could offer wouldn't get past Evan's calf. God damn it, Evan. Get your shit together. If you want to wear flower print pants, lose some muscle and then try again. But actually, it was the kid's tall and wide frame that really threw a monkey wrench into this so called treasure hunt. If we could take an axe to his legs and then pare his quads and calves down a bit we might have been able to work with the stores. However, as it was, we were up the creek without a flower print paddle.

It was honestly a bit depressing coming out of 109 Women's with only a malodorous haze of "perfume" and "scents" following us. I mean, how the hell could we expect to find flower print pants when the most likely place in Tokyo flat out told us no 40+ times in a row? But fuck that mopey shit, right? We kept on hoofing it, making our way to Forever 21. Sure, it's a little bit more of a "traditional" clothing store, but we walked up the steps and asked away. A few reroutings later, after being passed around by the store employees, we ended up on the 3rd floor pawing through a large box of pants with flower patterns stitched on. These weren't even black pants. Come on.

At that point the towel was flying through the air waiting for the mat to rush up and knock the wind out of it. THAT IS UNTIL WE SAW "IT." ANOTHER STORE. ANOTHER FUCKING STORE. The vibes were perfect. This place practically screamed, "THIS IS THE MECCA FOR ALL ODD CLOTHING PURCHASES YOU COULD WANT THAT MIGHT BE PASSED OFF AS FASHIONABLE." That's at least what I heard in my head when I was rushing up the steps. We entered the store and found the first person that looked like they gave a shit if we stole something.

"You have any flower print pants?"
"Nope."

Shit.

Bound up the stairs to the next floor, find someone similarly responsible looking and ask again.

"Nope."

Shiiiiiiiit.

One more set of stairs. We're now at the top of this store and it's gotten progressively narrower and stuffy. FIGHT IT. ASK ONE MORE TIME. DO IT FOR EVAN. DO IT FOR FLOWER PRINT PANTS. DO IT FOR FASHIONISTAS ALL OVER THE WORLD. BUT MORE THAN ANYTHING, DO IT FOR YOURSELF, KID. DO IT FOR YOURSELF! *punch the air*

"Nope."
"Well fuck this shit Evan, let's go home."

And that was the first real night of bopping around.

The days that followed kinda blended together into this mixture of stories, food, sightseeing, episodes of Bob's Burgers, and a stray beer or two. On one night I skyped with my parents (X-mas morning in the US) which was nice.

 -- I'm a terrible child sometimes. Legit, that was the first time I had heard my parents' voices in 3 months. It was the first time they had heard mine in as long. Step it up chicken shit, you owe a decent chunk of who you are to those two. I guess you might say I owe "everything" to them. Ya know, egg and sperm, etc., that whole thing that happened and lead to me coming out ass-backwards from my mom's stomach like Julius himself (fun fact: the speculation that Caesar was born via a C-Section  is apparently false. Wiki can cite that fact, so I'm somewhat happy? A part of me is dubious ever since that XKCD comic titled Citogenisis.) But yeah, I love them. I love you two, ya know, just in case you're reading this. And Perry, I love you too, also in case you're reading this. --

On another night I went clubbing with Mina, Ainaa, and Albina (all friends from KU) and we ended up stomping around the dance floor till 5:30 the following morning. To be honest, it was one of the most fun experiences that I wanted desperately to end. As much of a good time I had with the impromptu dance battles and communicating with the staff and asking random girls to dance by writing up text messages on my phone and showing them the screen, I was fucking ready to peace out and leave behind the loud music and smoky air when it hit 3 AM. Unfortunately, the trains didn't start running again till 5ish, so it was a full 2 hours of scraping at the bottom of the barrel for some get-up-and-go energy. At some point I hit a person passing by on the head by accident, yet all I could do was muster up a face that said "eat shit and die." I wanted to say sorry. I honestly did. My body just happened to contort that apology into a death threat and icy glare. Welp, those the breaks when you push your body to the edge and expect to walk back from it peachy keen.

On the second to last day (so really, the last day we could actually go bopping around), Evan took us to over to Ueno with the hopes of dropping in on the Modern Art Museum. It was closed. It seemed that in preparation for the New Year all the shops in the area closing up shop. But, truth be told, it was probably the best thing to have happened. Because the museum was closed, Evan and I ended up taking a walk, making a monstrous loop around Ueno park. And, the entire time, we just talked. We talked about our families, our friends, our schools, what the hell we wanted to do in the future, what we thought of ourselves and how we grew up and who we are, and who we "are," or whatever that means. And, before I let this sound like it reached profound levels of insight and depth, allow me to reassure you that it was just a conversation: an everyday occurrence. But, it was one between us and we just talked with honest words and eager ears. I'm not sure how he feels about that day, but it was my favorite out of the entire trip. Of course, there was also the amazing scenery that we came across. Who knew in the congested city of Tokyo that there were such wide open spaces? I was happily surprised and took my share of pictures. Eventually, we wrapped up our walk around Ueno park with a bowl of Udon and then sauntered over to Akihabara to get Evan to Super Potato, this awesome game store with everything old and new. It's there that he picked up a Super Famicom and some good games to go with it. Schwing.

And then we were approaching the twilight of our final day pretending to be Godzillas in Tokyo. It was a fun experience.

It was also beneficial experience. After meeting up with Evan and talking to him about his experiences in China, as well as having to play translator for a week, a new flame of motivation was born somewhere in my gut. "I can do more."

Up until this point I thought I was giving it a good go. I joined two circles and hang out with Japanese speaking friends much more often than English speaking friends, right? I went to my classes and did the work well, right? I even did self study for shits and giggles. That means I'm trying hard, right?

But that's honestly where it starts. This isn't a feeling of, "Oh man, how could I have wasted so much time," but rather, "what can I do with my time, beginning right now?" It's the start of an adventure where I'll be my own taskmaster. I'll be my own slavedriver. I'll also be my own prize at the end of it: a new guy. Here's to 2013 everyone, do something you love and do it well.