Into the Rising Sun

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Entry One



I began my journey as they all do - no, not with a single step. With a line at the airport. After check in and security lines, it was a line at the little convenience store. A Japanese woman in front tried to convince the cashier to give her two packs of gum for the cost of one. An amusing exchange on my end, absolutely aggravating to the woman behind the counter.

Having had stocked up on the usual drinks and snack food I made my way to the next line. Boarding a Bowing 77 meant a lot of people to usher onto the plane. Yet, with three lanes open, everyone had piled into one long lineup. The customer representative politely informed travelers that there were other attendants open to help them. With a great deal of bemusement, I watched the entire line shift from one check-in station to the next, still leaving two lanes open. Walking passed the sprawling group, I made my way to one of the open apathetic attendants who quickly scanned my passport and moved me along.

In the attempt to place my carry on luggage overhead, I was repeatedly jammed into the arm of a seat by tiny old Asian women in a hurry to sit in one place for the next half day. Even before taking off some old ladies already had pillows and blindfolds out, comfortably snoring away.

"Dear God... is that... could it be... an outlet at my seat?!" A precious treasure at an airport for a child of the digital age. Many a time I had sat on marble and carpeted floors, beside counters, behind pillars, in corners and aside washroom doors - all in the name of electricity. No matter how uncomfortable the circumstances, I can always be at peace if my phone and computer are able to get their life sustaining power. Flying to Japan, I wanted to be at peace. I quickly pulled out my cable and plugged in the laptop, a wave of peace filling me as the red charging light came on.

Almost as good - a personal entertainment system at my seat! Almost better, a great selection of children's movies! "Horton Hears a Who!" would be first, nothing like 3D animation to tickle my inner child with fantastic worlds! And who could resist an elephant finding an entire world on the fluff of a clover flower? Genius!

The first meal arrived - mmmm inedible Air Canada food. "Would you like the Western meal or Japanese?" asked the flight attendant. Surely Japanese would be the wiser choice, after all, their instant food is ambrosia compared to its sad North American counterpart. Soggy shrimp tempura, pasty rice, spongy potato salad, with not-quite stale bread and chocolate mousse. I was wrong. This was an Air Canada attempt at instant Japanese food, I was left wishing I had bought more food at the terminal.

Next movie, the Spiderwick Chronicles - a book come to life. "Never Ending Story" inspired? Doesn't matter, because there are fairies and goblins in the preview. Must watch! In the foreign section, a German movie about average men trying to become male escorts? Brilliant!

And another meal! A double decker sandwich with a thin slice of ham and a thin slice of cheese, apples and chicken noodle soup. Acceptable if not tasty.

A historical movie with women in grand dresses, Kings in sexual scandals and beheadings! Oh yes, this will do for the next viewing.

And then it happened, "Oh no, I have to pee." Feedback laughed maniacally. I hate airplane washrooms. I had every intention of camelling it through the entire flight, but... it wasn't going to happen. With a deep sigh, and a great deal of dread, I went. Something about a closet sized washroom and sad attempt at utilities makes me entirely uncomfortable. Watching the constant line at the door doesn't help.

While washing my hands, I noticed they had a bin holding "Female Sanitary Products." Curious I opened the drawer and could see neatly piled and wrapped pads ready for use - underneath what was a pile of used tissues. People were using it as a garbage can. Nice. Thankfully I wasn't in need, but I pitied anyone who had to reach into that.

On my way back to the seats, I caught sight of an Asian man sleeping on the floor of the plane, his head resting on the middle seat. That was a first, and I can't say it looked any more comfortable than trying to sleep IN the seat.

For 14 hours we flew in perpetual daylight, land of the rising sun indeed. The strength of the rays were so blaring that cracking a window open seared pupils. A long sleepless flight. Tired, stiff, hungry the last 4 hours concluded with one thought deliriously ringing in the back of my head:

The sun is eternal. It never sets.
It is the world that turns away.

At last, the giant jet landed, and we were ushered through long hallways, down several escalators and into customs. As expected everyone was polite, we were electronically fingerprinted, our iris scanned and our faces photographed.

Escalators there are fascinating. They are stationary when no one uses them, if someone enters from the top they move down and vise versa. During heavy traffic they automatically adjust to go in only one direction with lights at the bottom letting you know. Japan is full of simple little innovations that go a long way to make life easier and more orderly.

I left the building and found myself standing in beautiful summer weather. Before leaving, friends had warned me to beware of the bugs in Japan. I had been waiting for my ride not two minutes when I saw a big beetle flying through the air. "So that's what they're talking about," I thought. I looked away, watching the crowd of people moving along. Before I knew it, the beetle had flown right down my shirt.

Screaming, leaping, shaking my shirt, I desperately fought back the urge to rip off. A polite lady waited for my hysteria to pass before stepping passed me with her luggage. It took me a second to catch my breath. Once Feedback was able to stop laughing he stepped back inside to get me a drink, returning with a can of iced coffee. Swishing it around in my mouth, I tried to figure out exactly what the unusual, though pleasant taste was. Wheat.

Driving toward Tokyo looked no different at first. The vegetation looked like it would anywhere else, and so did the roads. Aside from the signs everything was comfortably familiar. A tiny bus passed, and as I stared up into the windows, an old woman looked down at me and pulled her curtain shut.

"Buses have curtains here?"

"You'll notice most things here have little touches for comfort. It's a very service oriented culture."

Then the first real sign that I was in a different country came - traffic signs so complex I knew immediately that I would be doing no exploring or shopping on my own.

We drove passed the rainbow bridge, its slight swaying of it creating the unsettling illusion of the an earthquake. Driving into Tokyo endless sea of buildings, some with gardens and batting cages on the roofs. They were built only centimeters apart, leaving no room for more development.

"Tokyo grows upward," explained the driver. "We tear things down to make them bigger, or build over them."

Driving through the center of Tokyo, I was for the first time, the visible minority. Drivers stared at me, cyclists craned their necks, and even pedestrians paused to take a look. This is not to say that gaijin (foreigners/outsiders) are a complete rarity. Yet, somehow I managed to attract attention even in the back seat of a car.

"Wow, these alleyways are so clean," I commented as we drove towards our temporary home.

"This isn't an alleyway," Feedback corrected, "it's a two way street." The little space was embraced by walls of buildings, allowing only enough room for one car.

"You mean, a street with a name and showing up on maps?"

"Yup," he replied.

"How can it be two way if only one car fits?"

"The first car at the entrance goes in, and the others wait until they've passed," our diver explained.

I walked into our new home, and greeted our hosts. Sharing a cup of delicious Jasmine tea we exchanged stories of our backgrounds and chatted away. As we were sharing our idle conversation I reached into my hair and felt what I thought was a bit of tree bark. Untangling it I took a look - and screamed realizing it was another big beetle! Running into the washroom I went through my head making sure it was the only one, to the great amusement of everyone present.

Early evening arrived and exhaustion was starting to weigh in. I needed to fight it off until nightfall. So we set out to Roppongi, one of Tokyo's night club districts. In every city I've visited, people always refer to "downtown", the busy, populated commercial, business and entertainment hub. No single such location exists in Tokyo, there are many "downtowns".

Walking down Roppongi, you see stairs leading down to literal "underground" night clubs, clothing stores at street level amongst various restaurants and stairs taking you up to night clubs and strip bars. Peeking down alleyways you see more cluttered commercial locations - not an inch of the city goes unused.

As the sun sets and the evening entertainment begins, the streets are littered with Nigerian and Indian immigrants, who boldly walk up shaking your hand, insisting you join them at their club. Ignoring them is the only way to deal with the situation, the slightest acknowledgment only encourages them to follow you for several blocks, insisting with what seems to boarder on desperation. "It's the only job illegal immigrants can land out here," our company explained.

I looked around the busy, but not overcrowded streets, amazed at how many young men wore suites. Women dressed in skirts and heels. Some dressed like hippies, some in tasteful casual wear. Regardless of the style, everyone still had a sense of fashion. Most people seemed to carefully think through the effect they wanted, it was clear outward presentation meant a lot. Inwardly, I sighed with pleasure.

Gas Panic was our choice for entertainment. We nodded politely at the bouncer and went up the steps. Hitting a large button made the metallic door slide open like a star trek deck. Inside we were immediately greeted by a hostess who took us to the VIP section. Being a Monday, it was slow, and there was no reason to insist on bottle service or cover fees.

"We have happy hour here until 9pm, please take advantage of this and order the more expensive or larger drinks, as it applies to everything on the menu."

And what a menu it was. Two large pages crammed with drinks both familiar and unknown. I went with a Kamikaze, while someone at our table ordered B52 shots on the recommendation of our waiter. The shots came in a martini mixer, "There's about 6 shots," he explained, "better than ordering them individually and still only 500 yen." (105 yen was the equivalent of one dollar). We all shared the shots, and 12 shots later were looked down at the little canister in amazement. Soon the alcohol stopped any chance of keeping accurate count.

A women entered with an older Japanese man, and sat at a booth across from us. "Hooker?" mused our company.

"Probably," another piped in, "she's all over him."

"Isn't that a bit rash?" I asked.

"Not in this country. It's a man's world, tough for women to have a career. For foreign women it's even harder. The country is full of escorts, women from all over Europe come to work here." I recall reading about the existence of a special visa for women that wanted to work as escorts in Japan, until the international community caught on and they stopped.

In the back, I noticed an older Japanese man wearing a traditional kimono. With a decorative fan in each hand and a distant smile on his face, he danced to the heavy hip-hop music screaming through the speakers.

A couple of drinks later, I couldn't keep my eyes open. It was noon in Toronto, and I hadn't slept for well over 24 hours. We strolled back home, and even at one in the morning, clothing shops were open, night life was sizzling, and the streets were packed. Unlike Toronto's 2am shut down time, the energy was only starting to peak - and on a Monday no less.

"You'd love living here it's a city that never sleeps." Neither do I! A night owl and part time insomniac, Tokyo was finding a place in my heart.

TheSassyEdge.com

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