Tokyo and back again

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April is well known throughout the world as a time of new life and fresh starts. The school year in Japan is arranged around this, and the beginning of spring is marked by a two week break separating the end of one life and start of another. I took advantage of this time to revisit Tokyo, together with a close friend from my former life back home. My old life and my new one, met upon Tokyo’s playing field, opened up new experiences and prepared me for this year to come.
Here I have written a few highlights of that experience.

Yoyogi Park, the hipper than hip place to be on a Sunday, seems to have it all: forested bike paths, a gorgeous temple where one can catch glimpses of weddings and funerals, a huge fountain area where concrete slabs become a haven for skaters, bmx-ers, and b-boys. On weekends, the main public square becomes a setting for vendors, hawkers, and buskers alike. This is also where youth tribes flock to be seen and photographed in their over-the-top fashions, often showing off their choreographed dance routines. And amist all of this, are couples in love, mothers pushing strollers, elderly bent over canes, students in uniform furiously text-messaging on their ketais, and tourists pointing their cameras every which way. Rival bands blanket the sidewalks putting on free shows in hopes of selling a few Cds. The most noticeable difference you find while observing these parks is just how much is going on around you. The parks I am used to involve a great amount of laziness; lying around with friends or maybe with a book. But even when the Japanese are having yasumi, they are working hard in their leisure. Juggling, playing tennis, or with frisbees, guitars, and preparing food, never have I seen the Japanese motionless or lost in thought, with the exception of the homeless population, which lurk in a more discrete location of the park, stretched out on the grass and gazing upward silently as the breeze blows petals from the trees.
Ah, the trees, the trees.
In these past few weeks, the cherry blossom season has spread across Japan like a delicious cloud of cotton candy. Japan just may hold boasting rights to the most gentle and beautiful of spring times in all the world. Just after winter, when leaves have yet to bud, these delicate pink flowers emerge almost overnight, and explode like a bag of popcorn over the landscape. The trees are cultivated and branches disciplined to cascade gracefully over ponds and canopy walkways. The effect is of a momentary dreamworld and everyone takes advantage of these short two weeks by hosting parties under the trees. Friends and families enjoy more casual picnics, eating bento or bbqing, while very formal gatherings of salarymen occur alongside. The parties carry on into the night, when lanterns are lit in the trees. Sake is often enjoyed and adds to the surreal atmosphere. It is especially beautiful when the weak blossoms begin to blow off the trees, and the air becomes littered with perfumed confetti.
The parks were my favorite part of Tokyo, because of the respite they offered from the pulsating streets. But inevitably, we found ourselves back into the fold, which must be appreciated for what it is. And so, after a day of shopping in the Shibuya area, famed for its ultra cute, bright fashions climbing all the way up sides of buildings, we decided to toast Tokyo in appropriate fashion. That entailed a visit to the Park Hyatt in Shinjuku, and its New York bar on the 52nd floor, the setting in which Bill Murray and Scarlett Johansson flirted over Suntory in Sophia Coppola’s Lost in Translation. The drinks don’t come cheap, but if slowly sipped, one can stretch out the evening watching day turn tonight over Japan’s wildest district.
My companion described Shinjuku as, “Walking into an apartment, and finding all the appliances going at once”. Walking through the narrow neon lanes flashing and popping with unharmonic beats, adverts, and jumbo screens, the experience is just as surreal as the cotton candy parks, except this one gives you a headache. I have a hard time discerning between the nightlife districts in Japan. They all seem to offer versions of the same thing; table sat drinking pubs usually breaming with salarymen, glowing pachinko parlors and gaming centers (which, by the way, are the best place to go if you have to use the toilet), super-mega-ultra clubs, which charge exhorbant rates to bounce around to pop-y base, the more discrete red light district, and karaoke. If these options don’t interest you, and you’re the type who just likes to grab a drink at a bar, maybe catch some local bands jamming in the corner and meet an interesting stranger, then you are looking for water in the desert. There are more and more gaijin bars opening in Japan, usually Irish or British themed and full of tourists who found out about the place from their lonely planet guidebook. I find these places fake and uninteresting, yet sometimes frequenting them becomes unavoidable, especially when in the company of other foreigners. But Tokyo has many layers hidden down alleys of neatly stacked concrete, and unless you are in the know, it is nearly impossible to penetrate the worlds you may wish to enter.
But that doesn’t mean that you still shouldn’t try.
Out of all the types of theater and dance in Japan, kabuki has the most famous reputation. Dating back from the Edo Period, it is a mixture of folklore, comedy, drama, dance and stunts. While the content of the performances vary, themes like courage, self-sacrifice, and duty remain a constant. What gives kabuki its famous reputation is the actors themselves; they are all male. Like the geisha, these boys enter into dedicated study at a young age, learning how to wear kimono, put on makeup, flirt with their eyes and shuffle across the floor with delicate grace. They are not considered drag queens but respected actors, admired for their refined talent. But as the new generation speeds into 21st century with video games, pop music, and spiky hair, the refined arts of Japan are beginning to fade like an unwatered house plant. There are now only a handful of kabuki actors left in all of Japan. Most are centrally located in Tokyo and catching a performance can be quite costly. The one exception is the Kabuki Za theater, amoungst the Chanel stores of Ginza, where you can catch one act of the 3 part plays in balcony seating for a mere ten dollars. The play I viewed there was from an old folklore of a woman possessed by a serpent sent to destroy the temple bell. The star of the show, a notable actor in gorgeous kimono and head dressings, preformed a beautiful and delicate fan dance before the crowd. Stage crew dressed like ninjas in all black (to look invisible) periodically dashed onto stage to change scenery or dramatically remove the actors kimono in one quick motion, revealing an even more beautiful costume beneath, which caused the crowd to gasp in pleasure. The style of dance is very demure, possibly due to the restrictive nature of the kimono. Tiny motions, flicks of the wrist and twitches of the head brought the more inundated crowded members to passionately give shout to the actors name during the performance. These shouts are tradition, like yelling the name of your favorite player during a sports game, and often shock foreigners. But there is a skill to the timing of these cries, and the actors crave them.
Tokyo definitely has its merits as one of the most interesting cities in the world. It’s an amazing rush diving into a crowd like a rushing river and experiencing life like a Tokyoite. But I am glad I don’t live there. It may sound vain, but I prefer the countryside because I like the extra attention you receive for being a foreigner. In Tokyo, you are just another gaijin in the crowd, and sometimes Tokyoites even treat you as a bother. It is difficult to become fluent in such a place, because, used to dealing with tourists, many residents will automatically switch to English when dealing with you. But in the countryside, being a spectacle is an opportunity to take people up on their curiosities. Their questions are a great way to practice the language, and it is a chance to learn more about the gentle manner of the Japanese. I strongly recommend to anyone who has interests in learning a foreign language to spend time in the rural areas, often so overlooked, yet so much richer in experience. But that’s just my advice, to each his own. I hope you all visit Tokyo one day and don’t forget your moon boots.

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