(Any diehard Monty Python fans among you will recognize that the title
line was meant to describe Chinese, not Japanese, people. In this case, though,
I’d say it was far more appropriate for the Japanese.)
So, apparently Khabarovsk has an international terminal… I had been
sitting in the main terminal of the airport for awhile, and then I noticed that
my noon flight was not on the departures list. Once I hit the 2 hour mark
before my flight, I decided to ask someone about the flight, and then they said
International Terminal. Hmph, well, I’m glad that there was nothing anywhere
communicating that fact to me… On my online itineraries, each of my Asia
airports tell me which terminal I’ll be flying into or out of, but for
Khabarovsk it said “unknown.” I assumed that meant that they dealt with it all
in the same terminal. Nope. Wrong again. In the US, even if you’re embarking on
an international flight, if you’re flying on a major domestic airline (in
Russia’s case, Aeroflot or even Vladivostok), you tend to depart from the same
terminal as other flights of that airline, with the international terminal only
handling incoming flights or foreign airlines. Well, nope, because they put us
through a basically useless customs area for our outgoing flight. Any goods to
declare before leaving Russia? Oh, wait, you all live in Russia? Nevermind.
Upon my arrival to the international terminal, which was only handling
my noon flight and another one at 7pm, I fell in line behind a large school
group that was going to Tokyo, having studied a bit about Japan, or Japanese,
or something like that. It was my mistake to go behind them, because the
customs officials wouldn’t let anyone else through until they had finished
checking in everybody for from that group. When I finally got to check-in, the
lady took a ridiculously long time to check me in. This is why I would prefer
online check-in, but the Aeroflot website said, “Hell, No!” when I tried. So,
apparently they just picked seats by filling in from the front to the back of
the plane. I got no preferential treatment for my status and was squeezed in
next to two boys from that class. Only upon disembarking at Tokyo did I realize
that that the last 5 rows of the plane were completely empty and I could have
found a roomier seat. Most other airlines will fill up all the window and aisle
seats first before putting people in the middle seats. So many reasons to shake
my head on this flight…
Filling in our required customs and disembarkation info, they asked for
my hotel address and number and my departing flight number. Unfortunately, all
that information was packed in my bag, which I had checked, because the lady at
the counter refused to acknowledge it as a carry-on, despite my having fit it
in every overhead bin I have thus faced while traveling with it. I just put
“Hotel in Taito” and “Korean Air to Seoul” for my answers, and hoped I would be
ok.
We landed in Tokyo and I would find out later that there had been a 5.4
magnitude earthquake an hour before we landed. Of course, that’s nothing in
this here country. Japanese people were at the airplane exit waiting to greet
us with big happy smiles, like they were genuinely happy to have visitors. I
could already tell that my welcoming to this country would be a positive one,
and definitely a far cry from the relative fuck you that Russia says to
outsiders. We boarded the bus that took us to the customs location, and at
Passport Control, a Japanese lady was guiding people where to go, and she did
so in English. This definitely freaked some of the Russian students out, who
probably were not prepared to be hearing someone from a non-English country
giving instructions in English. I’ve come to realize that if you’re white and
in Asia, they will assume that they can speak English to you if they know it.
I’m so glad that they realize here the international importance of learning
English. I’m not trying to be a dick… I mean, if you live long-term in a
country, you should damn well try to learn the language, but it’s nice to
vacation briefly and have a common language, or at least someone who’s very
willing to speak all that they know from school. I was happy to be able to step
in and translate for the bewildered Russians, though (like a boss!). The
passport control officer took my picture and my fingerprints. He also laughed
when I told him I didn’t remember my exact flight number or the name or address
of my hotel, but I had the destination and the neighborhood. He smiled and said
have a great trip. That was a huge contrast compared to my first passport
control in Moscow where the man didn’t speak or smile and did a lot of staring
at my documentation and me. I would get the same friendliness from the customs man
who checked my bag over after I retrieved it.
I set off to find the train and it was simple enough. Most everything
has an accompanying English translation (it’s one thing to be expected to learn
Cyrillic—the alphabet’s not all that difficult—but I’m glad the Japanese don’t
expect us to know their characters). When I wanted to find an ATM, the lady at
the information desk knew perfect English, too. And everybody here smiles back
when I smile at them! In Russia, you can be looked upon with suspicion for
smiling too much, because it’s a rare occurrence. Here, they love to be polite
and helpful and they love that I enjoy it and would do the same for them. What
a country!
I boarded the train, unsure if it was in fact mine, but there was an
old couple sitting across from me who was very interested in what I was doing
and where I was going. They wanted to make sure I knew where I was going. The
train came above ground outside the airport and I was greeted with beautiful,
greenery in the form of lush bamboo forests. Not bad for the most populous
metro area in the world. When I started dozing off, the nice old couple made
sure I was awake to get off at the right stop to change trains. I boarded
another train, continuing onward to Ueno, where I would switch to the subway
system. At one point a man sat down across from me who I would peg as some sort
of university liberal arts professor, based on the way he dressed, with green
and blue plaid pants and a matching necktie. It was I style I longed to
duplicate. But where would I ever find such pants?
I eventually reached my metro stop at Minami Senju station in the Taito
ward of Tokyo. I took out my trusty “travel logistics” packet I had made up,
showing all my intended destinations of interest and how to get there (mostly
just Google map thumbnails showing the place and the nearest metro station). I
set off for my hotel, which was going to be several blocks south. The sky had
gone from sunny at the airport to gloomy white now. I could already tell that
the humidity was not going to agree with me. Walking down the street, I could
see the great Sky Tree tower directly to the south, though it was being
eclipsed somewhat by the increasingly dense clouds. As it turned out, the street
blocks were very small, because Tokyo just really is that compact, and in no
time I had reached the 7-11 behind which my hotel was nestled somewhere. Asians
love their 7-11’s. I’m so happy already. But… no Slurpees….
I came upon the little Hotel New Koyo, where I had booked a simple “Japanese-style”
room. I believed that meant a futon for a bed. It turns out it would also mean
a bed-sized room. The man at the front desk reminded me of Mr. Miyagi when we
first meet him in the first Karate Kid movie. He sported the same facial hair,
a sleeveless shirt, and of course the hotel employment. Yes, I had met Pat
Morita reincarnate. I was welcomed both as Mr. Kyle and Kyle-san, to my
delight, and was given the little tour of the hotel. I couldn’t help but
chuckle when I opened the door to my room. Folded up in the corner with a
pillow and a blanket was more like the type of padding I would put on a lawn
chair than a futon, but it would have to do. The floor of the room had the
feeling of woven wicker, and the walls were bare, except for some hooks for
hanging. In another corner was a wardrobe about the size of a filing cabinet
and a table/desk space with a tiny flatscreen TV atop it. Not to be un-Japaned,
there was a complimentary pair of Crocs for me to wear around the building.
Home Sweet Home, I thought. I laid out the sleeping pad and it was comfortable
enough. I figured with the all the exploring I would do, I would have no trouble
falling asleep at night. Living on the floor did, however, make the ceiling
seem especially high, and that added to the openness of the space.
 |
| I took this picture from the doorway. Note the umbrella and the backpack in the foreground for size. |
After doing some stuff online, I decided to head out and see what
sightseeing I could do on my first evening. It was raining outside, but I had
luckily brought my rain jacket for such an occasion. My trip is too short to
waste avoiding the rain! It was absolutely pouring though, and my shorts were
quickly being soaked through, so I bought an umbrella at the first place I saw
one. I had grouped my sightseeing destinations by part of town, and I figured I
would see the stuff that was in my general area first. That meant the Sky Tree,
Asakusa, Sensoji Temple, and maybe some gardens if I got the chance. I subwayed
over to the Sky Tree, which involved having to take many escalators up out of a
large new upscale shopping center, the likes of which I need to avoid for
affordability’s sake. The Sky Tree is a very impressive structure, putting the
formerly dominating Tokyo Tower to shame, as it almost twice as tall. If only
it had a prettier daytime coloring than this drab grayness that is made no
better by gray sky around it. It was so popular when it first opened that
tickets to go to the top were sold out for months, and apparently it’s still
damned-near-impossible to expect to go up if you just show up. I decided I wouldn’t
even bother. I’ll go up in the Tokyo Tower later in the week. This weather
wouldn’t make for a very good view anyway.
 |
| Sky Tree |
I wandered around the whole Sky Tree Center, trying to get a few
different vantage points for pictures, and then I spotted a Japanese McDonalds.
It is completely silly of me, but I try to get to a McDonalds in every country
I visit, just for the hell of it, and sometimes to compare options and such.
Recent exceptions have been Iceland and the Vatican, which were both lacking in
a Mickey D’s. Usually I order a Big Mac, and this time was no different. The
lady at the counter didn’t speak English, but they have pictures of all the
menu items for just such a situation. She also made an “L” with her hand to
signal if I wanted a large meal or not. The ease with which we were still able
to communicate, based on just an enthusiasm for the exchange, was just so
refreshing (ordering McDonalds in Russia is not so fun). Along with my meal, I
got a free Coca-Cola glass as part of their promotional giveaway for something
or other, possibly related to the Olympics. It was like I was getting an adult
Happy Meal toy. I ate up on the second floor, looking out over the street at
passersby. This was the first McDonalds I could ever remember that played
classical piano music. I think it was something of the late classical, early
romantic style, like Schubert. It was very nice. There were other people at
their tables treating it as a café of sorts, reading books or newspapers long
after finishing their meals. The whole premise under which fast food had developed,
the idea of food-on-the-go, was given the middle finger and repackaged into a
pleasant and relaxing evening here. I was impressed. I went to the bathroom and
encountered my first high tech Japanese toilet. I correctly guessed how to
flush it, but I avoided all other buttons, mostly after seeing sit-coms and
movies where people encounter such toilets and end up being inadvertently drenched
by unexpectedly powerful bidet settings. I decided to keep the cup. It might
come in handy to me later. And I went on my merry way.
I re-emerged from the subway station to discover that it was already
completely dark outside after 7pm. My time in Siberia had made me forget about
the whole “night” thing. I had worked 6 weeks in Vankor without ever seeing the
sun completely below the horizon, and now here I was back in the dark of night.
I was not about to let this put a damper on my evening sight-seeing, though. I
followed the tourist maps to Sensoji Temple. First, I passed through the temple
gate, a beautiful piece of Japanese art in and of itself, and then down a
shop-lined lane to the main temple square. All the shops were closed up, but to
provide something interesting to passersby while closed, all the closed doors
were painted with various historical Japanese scenes. Some were of battles,
some just of wildlife, all unique. I reached the temple and wallowed in my
godless insignificance before it. To my left was a magnificent, golden, four-story
pagoda, and in front of me the steps led up to the shrine within the temple. No
pictures were allowed of the inside, and I agreed. People would have no reason
to come if they already knew what surprises lie inside! ;-)
Setting on the steps beneath the massive sweeping eaves of the temple
was a group of Americans. Whether they were students or tourists, I do not
know. I didn’t talk to them. Maybe I was giving off a creepy loner vibe, by
myself on this dark and rainy night, or maybe I just didn’t feel like talking
to other Americans. Maybe both. I was accustomed to being either the only, or
one of just a handful of, Americans in my location in Russia. I liked it to
stay that way. Especially in Asia, where white people stand out more, I liked
standing out alone. I also started to realize that, being an expat, I would
inadvertently look upon tourists with a level of unfair contempt. This is
completely silly, because here in Japan, I am just another tourist, taking
pictures of random things that make me go “oooh” and “aaah,” but just because I
currently live overseas, subconsciously something in me might actually be
looking down upon other westerners I meet here. Of course, I don’t even know
their backstories. They could be expats as well. Who says they live in America,
just because they’re sporting American accents, clothes, and walking around
with maps and cameras? It is at this point that I take note not to let myself
turn into a holier-than-thou asshole just because I was lucky enough to get to
live and work overseas. In fact I thank my lucky stars every day of vacation
for a job that gave me such good vacation time. American jobs would never give
out vacation the way mine does. Yes I am thankful for what I’ve been given, but
I remain wary of the person I might become if I’m not careful and don’t take a
step back every now and then to look at this amazing opportunity I’ve been
given…
 |
| Sensoji Temple |
After getting my fill of the temple, I explored a nearby garden. It was
very dark and I couldn’t take in all of its splendor, but it had a nice stream
running through it, with the obligatory arcing footbridge of the style that
Monet made famous. Except I am coming to realize that many of these footbridges
I’ve seen in Japanese gardens weren’t actually accessible by foot. Or maybe the
particular ones I came across were just for show. I’m not really sure. Either way,
I never got to walk across one.
I went back down the street from whence I came, to a huge covered
market street. I decided to walk down and see what might catch my eye along the
way. This trip will have a lot of window shopping and not much buying in it. My
money goes to food and travel. I have to stave off the urge to acquire anything
of a materialistic ilk. Unexpectedly but happily, I did see something special
in a cage in front of a novelty toy store.
 |
| Weasel! |
It’s a Weasel! (At least that’s what we called it back when.) My friend
Caley brought one to school a couple times in elementary school, and it was
full of silly fun. All it is is a furry tail of something that is attached to a
plastic ball with a motorized mechanism in it that causes the ball to roll all
over in random directions. The tail thing would therefore be whipped around and
around every which way, in such a way that it looked like a weasel-type critter
trying unsuccessfully and comically to get control of a ball. It was just the
kind of mindless entertainment that we could find to do as kids without
resorting to video games.
I soon decided I was tired from travelling and had seen all I could see
on this stormy night. So I went back to my little solitary confinement-sized
room and hit the hay.
My plan the next morning had been to wake up really early and go to the
Tsukiji Fish Market, but plans are for sissies. No, that’s not true. I just
overslept until about noon. I guess I needed that. When I did finally get my
lazy ass out of bed, I grabbed breakfast from the 7-11 in the form of a crab
sandwich, which was tasty, and I managed to get down to Tsukiji. I didn’t do
much market browsing, but there was a cool giant fish…
 |
| Big fish = more fun! |
After I decided I’d seen enough market, I looked at my trusty
itinerary/map setup and decided I would go to the Imperial Palace Gardens,
which I figured meant that I would also go to the Imperial Palace. A short
Subway ride later and I was strolling through the now blazing afternoon heat to
the Palace Gardens. I crossed a moat and entered through the gate on the east
side, and passed the guardhouse to find that there was no entrance fee, but I
had to pick up an entrance token anyway that I would later return upon exiting.
I walked in behind a couple guys that could pass for live-action versions of
the Comic Book Guy from The Simpsons. This came as no surprise to me, because
of all the countries in the world, Japan has this special place in the hearts
of all comic book, video game, and animation lovers. So expected to (and did)
see many people whose outer appearance fit said description.
 |
| Imagine him in real life. I saw several of these guys. |
The gardens were vast and tidy. In Japanese fashion they weren’t overly
ornate and there was nothing excessive, just serene beauty. Here I was in the
middle of the world’s largest metro area and in a vast garden where the only
sound I heard was the squawking of crows (or crazy Asian versions of crows that
made sounds much more annoying than your typical “kaw”). I spent most of my
time trying to stay in the shade, because my poor head had forgotten over the
last 8 months what direct sunlight was like. Sunscreen had not crossed my mind
of things I needed, but my Siberian paleness was about to suffer the
consequences majorly. After I was satisfied with the pictures I took, I made my
way back to the subway station, deciding I should just go back to the hotel and
wait out the worst of the sun. Maybe I’d fetch my umbrella there and use it as
a parasol, because I’d seen even the men doing that in Japan. Though I hadn’t
seen a white man pull it off… I wasn’t sure I wanted to risk the ridiculing
eyes of passersby. First, I just needed to get out of the sun and buy some
sunscreen.
 |
| Imperial Palace Gardens |
I went back to my hotel room, which itself wasn’t air-conditioned, but
it was cool enough. I remembered that Hulu was supposed to be available in
Japan now. In my mind this meant that Hulu.com could now stream videos in
Japan. I had several series whose last 3 or 4 episodes I missed on my last vacation
and really wanted to see through to the end. As it turns out, it meant there is
now a Hulu.jp, with an entirely different set of streamable media. They didn’t have
any of the shows I wanted to watch, and Hulu.com still wouldn’t stream. Oh
poopsies. So I took a nap.
I got up again in evening time and decided that I wanted to see
something that was a lot more local (meaning less white people). I spoke to the
Miyagi look-alike at the front desk and he suggested taking the subway to Kagurazaka.
This was a place he said that had a lot of great places to eat and would seem
like a tourist place, but it’s kind of like the tourist spot for locals. I wasn’t
sure what he meant by that, but I went. I came out of the subway on a long
street lined with lots and lots of restaurants. Many of them were French or
Italian-themed. I guess he meant that this was where the locals could go for
good European food. I realized I was starving and that I hadn’t had anything since
breakfast, so I stopped at a sushi stand that was giving away end-of-the-day
wares for half-price. My kind of deal. I ended up buying three to-go trays
worth of sushi, and then I went to look for a place to eat it. I journeyed down
a side street and entered a small park. Although it was now after dark, I wasn’t
too worried because there was a man and his little boy kicking a soccer ball
back and forth. I sat on a wall out of the way of everyone and chowed down on
my feast. I heard fireworks going off but the surrounding buildings blocked my
view. It was the 4th of July, after all. I should see some
fireworks. But these were part of a July event in Tokyo in which different
neighborhoods apparently set off fireworks and have contests for who has the
best show. At least I heard fireworks
on the 4th…
After finishing my feast and grunting at how full I now was, I left the
park. My next destination was another locally-loved place that was suggest to
me. I headed to the “electric city” of Akihabara. I was told to avoid all the
black people outside the establishments, because they all try to rip you off.
But a Japanese person would never do that and so if there’s a girl waiting
outside somewhere, it’s usually a safe place to go. The place I was supposed to
go is called Maidreamin (read that as Maid Dreamin, and not Maid Reamin). He
said there should be girls outside it handing out flyers for it and not to
worry because they are safe. “You’ll know it when you see it.” It turns out
this place was popular enough to have several locations just in this neighborhood.
I still wasn’t entirely sure what it entailed once I got inside. The guy said
just to watch the girls and have a good time. But the way that he said it, I
didn’t think he meant it as some sort of strip club.
 |
| The facade of their flagship location in Akihabara |
As soon as I had entered Akihabara, I saw one of these “Maids” outside
with flyers. I decided, what the hell, I need a real taste of Japan here. The
girl outside looked to be somewhere in her teens and she was dressed in what I can
only describe as a costume dreamed up by someone with a fetish for dolls and French
maids. They weren’t like tiny French maid outfits designed for sexiness per se…
Think of if you had a children’s doll and dressed it up as a maid. It’s more
like that. The girl smiled at me and handed me a flyer and went in to the
building, up to the 6th floor where I would find out what this place
was. I reached the front desk and was greeted with excited and high-pitched
welcomes from the hostess maids. They said food was no longer being served. Just
drinks. I was ok with that, and I walked in. Like the excited little girls they
portrayed, they enthusiastically showed me my seat and menu. After a quick look
around, it was apparent that I was the only white guy here. In the center of
the big open room was a round stage, and singing and dancing on it was a maid.
Not a sexy dance, but just something cute and fun. I can’t really describe at
as anything else. All the drunk men around were very excitedly clapping along
and many of them knew specific dances to the songs that involved wild, swinging
arm motions. A maid came up and asked my name and where I was from. Every one of
them spoke in a really high pitched, almost squeaky manner. A later perusal of
their website would reveal that the maids are from supposedly from a special
happy planet where they are all 17 years old.
I decided to order a Moscow Mule, for the irony of being “from” Russia
and now being in Japan. Then a Japanese guy came over from another table and
sat in the empty seat next to me and tried to converse with me. Basically he
kept trying to ask me if I liked Japan (to which I answered yes), and then he
would ask who. And as far as I could tell, I liked all the Japanese so far, so
I would answer everyone. This made him happy. He wrote down several places I
should visit and then went back to his table. Later on, a big glass of sake
would appear for me, and I couldn’t tell of the maid said it was on the house
or from that guy. Either way, I was grateful for the free drink. Before I drank
each drink, a maid would come up to me and ask me to do some sort of little
hand signal that usually involved making a heart shape with my hands. All of
this just made me smile incredulously, and after I was thoroughly liquored up,
I sat back to watch the show.
The casual observer may look at all this and conclude that the Japanese
are a very pedophilic society, or at least that they have a fetish for the
youthful. But in this situation, I failed to feel any ounce of sexuality from
any of the girls or the dancers. It was all just cuteness and happiness. Which
was fine with me. At the end of the night, nobody is ever in all that great of
a mood after leaving a strip club, having blown a bunch of money on girls who
pretend to like them (unless of course they happen to go home with one of the dancers). But after leaving Maidreamin, you can’t help but just
feel really happy. The website also said explicitly that their goal
is to make you happy. It worked. I love Japan!
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