08 Well, See Ya Later

Tokyo is clean; Tokyo is beautifully clean. There aren’t streams of trash flowing beside the roads and there aren’t roads of garbage parked in the streams. You don’t see shoes hanging on power lines or gum standing on sidewalks. The mentality is different—the homeless people stack their manga neatly.

This is surprising though.

It’s surprising because a lot of trash circulates through Tokyo. Every item is wrapped and every package is container-ed and every container is bagged. If you buy a meal from a convenience store, for example, you will end up with a lot of trash. You will end up with more trash than you expected. Once you pull everything out of the bag, open up the containers and unwrap the items you will have created a plastic heap that is crumpled, uncontrolled and rough-around-the-edges. It’ll all fit back into the bag very poorly. Despite all this trash though, Tokyo is clean.

This is surprising.

It’s surprising because finding a trash receptacle in Tokyo is rare. Sometimes it’s more rare than the second actor on Polk-a-Dot Door finding Polkaroo.

We walked around Shinjuku station, on our second last day together, looking for a garbage can. We couldn’t find any. We looked for a gaijin with an open backpack, but they all had little locks on their zippers. We carried our trash with us.

This was the last full day of our Great Meeting. We started it off by going to the Imperial Palace, which is closed to the public 363 days a year—this particular day unsurprisingly fell within that 363 day span. You can book a guided tour if you really want, but guided tours aren’t for people nearing the end of their Great Meeting. We took all the same pictures that everyone who has ever been to the Imperial Palace has taken and we headed to Asakusa to take all the same pictures that everyone who has ever been to Asakusa has taken. Mostly.

Of all the flytraps in Tokyo, Asakusa must be the biggest and stickiest—there is a constant gaijin-buzz, and the streets are littered with their corpses. There’s about a hundred and fifty meters of souvenir shops perpendicular to a giant temple’s mouth. It’s as if the Japan Tourist Association caused the temple to puke in order to have it licked up by flies. Spiritless x Costly, Booo.

We got lucky though. There was a big festival happening and the place was packed with locals and food tents—I often found someone else’s face in my armpit. Some of the people from Tokyo were there. We walked around and Chris bought beer. I know he secretly loved the beer. He would probably mow your lawn with his teeth for ten bucks if you asked.

We ended the day in Roppongi—a place that used to be known for its low standards in seediness, but is now known for its high standards in seediness. Roppongi has become the rich person’s home-for-the-night. It’s filled with high-class nightclubs, bars with tall chairs and restaurants with long lines. We ate at 7-11.

And that was that. That was the second last day.

Then it was the final day—the last day of our Great Meeting.

We spent most of it quietly. We talked about Australians: smuggling budgies at the beach and taking slashes in the toilet. We listened to the newest Pillows album, and we talked about Kaori for a moment.

That day, the last day of our Great Meeting, we picked up my luggage from Daiki. Chris was direct; he asked one question that if answered positively would explain everything.

Does Kaori have a boyfriend?

Yes.

Kaori and I never dated. We were never boyfriend and girlfriend, but we did like each other. That was two years ago. It was my view that we were good friends—her recent actions, of course, didn’t seem reciprocal.

Chris and I talked about this for ten minutes, more or less, and our response was:

Well, see ya later.

More or less.

The last day of a Great Meeting shouldn’t be wasted. We spent the last of our time before our departure to Tokyo Station uploading pictures to Facebook and ripping music to our iPods…

Sometimes, I’ve heard, Great Meetings have tremendous climaxes with great change and great resolution. They end in slow motion with lots of time for reflection and discussion. This is not always true. A Great Meeting can be great based solely on the circumstances of it all—two brothers meeting halfway around the world, for example.

And that was that; it was the end—Chris on his way to Sapporo and me on my way to Narita Airport. I began work the next day. Great Meetings, I’ve heard, usually end with great words, and in this way ours was no different. We quoted Dumb and Dumber:

Big Gulps, eh? Well, see ya later.

07 Wonder x Free, Wooo

Japan has ninjas, but it does not have a ninja problem. It does, however, have a problem with lions. There are a lot of lions in Japan. In the country where seagulls are an exhibit at the zoo, lions roam free.

The Japanese Lion can be distinguished from the African Lion in a number of simple ways. African Lions can be found in vast, open spaces such as the Savannah, but Japanese Lions can only be found in the densest areas of Japanese cities. Second, the Japanese Lion enjoys artificial tanning; an African Lion has too much hair to also enjoy artificial tanning.

Unique to all other lions that I’m aware of, the Japanese Lion also has a fashion sense. They enjoy dressing in trendy clothes, presumably in order to attract female lions. The African Lion pees on things and roars really loud to achieve the same thing. Finally, though the mane of a Japanese Lion is well kept just like an African Lion’s, the Japanese Lion’s cell phone contacts are much more organized.

There are a lot of lions in Japan. My brother and I saw one riding on a train. I took a picture of it, but my flash was on. Taking a picture of a lion with your flash on lets the lion know that you were taking a picture of it. Unfortunately, increasing a lion’s ego is one of the major problems Japan is having right now with its lion population.

Chris and I were off to Akihabara, also known as Electric Town, also known as the place in Tokyo where seven people were massacred just one month earlier. The murderer’s weapon of choice was his truck, but it only took him so far. I think he knew this, but fortunately he brought his knife too.

Akihabara used to be famous for all things otaku (otaku, remember, means geek). Now it’s infamous for the place where psychotic otaku go to misdirect years of repressed rage. Oh well, it still had all the games I was looking for.

There are no lions in Akihabara — it’s an exception to the rule.

This was my last day with my JR pass, so we were going to all the places in Tokyo on or near JR lines. From Akihabara we went to Ginza. Ginza is for people richer than us, but you can check your email for free at the Apple Store.

Gaijin are pretty clever sometimes — updating your Facebook page from an Apple Store is, admittedly, something I never thought of. Of the eight Mac Book Airs hooked up to the internet, eight of them were being used by white people to check the virtual part of their social lives. Chris and I each had one. And because Ginza is for people richer than us, we all laughed rich gaijin laughs.

We hopped on the train to go to somewhere, anywhere else to eat. You don’t eat in places for people richer than you. We headed to Harajuku.

Harajuku is where Gwen Stefani went to get her dance pack. It’s also where, on weekends, outcast girls from Tokyo and the nearby areas gather to share their commonness. They gather on a bridge near the train station; they wear black clothes and white face paint; they wear high socks that are striped black and white; they have chains holding their sleeves to their jackets and they put too many things in their hair.

That’s on weekends though. This day was a Wednesday – it was a Vitamin Guard day.

Behind the bridge where the Harajuku Girls gather is the wonderful Meiji Shrine. Meiji Shrine comes with my highest recommendation. I found the place spiritual like Fushimi Inari – the one in Kyoto with the orange gates. It’s also free. Freeness is a key element of spirituality. The wonder multiplied with the freeness gave us something Wooo.

At the shrine I saw a classmate of mine from two years prior. That sort of thing is pretty much impossible in Tokyo.

Harajuku is good for shopping, something we didn’t particularly care to do, so we left. We walked from Harajuku to Shibuya – about a ten-minute walk. Shibuya is the Lion’s Den. It’s where the lions eat, work, get their tans, stand with their backs against walls, call out to girls who are just as impressively tanned and, finally, it’s where they get their manes feathered and trimmed.

If a city is its sites to see, then Shibuya is Tokyo.

Shibuya is the place that makes Tokyo a city worth seeing. Shibuya is where you need to go first. It’s super-modern, over-full, seven-stories tall, merchandise-friendly, fashion-conscious and fast-moving. It’s musical, magical, electric, eclectic, upscale, upbeat, affordable and awesome. Shibuya is Wooo.

Shibuya Crossing Video

If music is your thing, than Shibuya is more dangerous than Akihabara the day the newest Dragon Quest comes out. We spent two hours in the HMV drooling on CD and DVD cases – we were marking our territory for the date when we could afford to buy them. That day wouldn’t likely come. The HMV was seven-stories of things we don’t have. If it weren’t for an even more basic instinct we would have completed our Christmas wish lists for the next sixty years. We needed to eat.

We ate dinner at an Irish Pub, where the waiter was from Ireland. We ordered $800 worth of pop, gasoline and grass each. We also ate meals we hadn’t had in a long time. I had the all day breakfast and Chris had fish and chips.

The hero James returns again later on, and he teaches me of something that’s relevant at this time. According to James, an Englishman has done some species classification on Gaijin. There are five levels of Gaijin, so it goes. Level-five gaijin blend in. They don’t cause a stir and they don’t wear cameras around their necks. Level-one gaijin bring their home and their favourite chair to Japan. Sitting next to us was a level-one. We didn’t know the proper classification at the time, but he was definitely a level-one — his friend too! (If it were up to me I would have reversed the system so level-fives were the fiercest, as to mimic their hurricane counterparts. However…)

This level-one talked louder than his warm and floating head would have him believe. He wore his power-suit, his hair was slicked back and he talked about big cash transactions. He used words like hedging, real options and hundred-thousand. His partner didn’t say a word, but he was laughing so hard you would have sworn he was going to fall off his chair and start kicking his legs in the air, begging the level-one to stop.

The level-one didn’t stop.

He went on about clients and portfolios. He jabbered about statistics and normal curves. And whenever he got the chance, he would drop F-Bombs as if his intention were to set Tokyo ablaze again. His friend would spit out his pop, gasoline and grass every time he did — to add fuel to the flames.

I wondered if we could have gotten him fired if we had recorded his conversation. Oh well.

It was night now. Our seats at the pub overlooked the nighttime streets of Shibuya. Wooo.

We walked back to the station, crossed the biggest intersection in Tokyo, crept passed a Lion’s Den, saw some level-twos and threes and talked to a professor doing research on Japanese people’s English skills. He held a big sign that said, “Speak to me in English.” He’s disappointed with the state of linguistics in Japan. He lived in Florida for some time and worked in real estate.

We arrived at the hostel; Atsushi was playing a drinking game with his friends. I went to shower. I knew my luck couldn’t keep up with this, but I promised to be more open to the whole thing.

I locked the door. Forget that! Wooo!

Chris and I set our air conditioners to space travel and were frozen in our capsules, though I woke up at five to pee.

06 Fireworks, Beer and Beer and Fireworks

What was that lesson we learned again? Not the one about maps in Kyoto. Not that Mondays are long but Wursdays are worse. Not that you can’t meet a ninja, but you can have a ninja encounter. What was it again?

Oh yeah!

Make reservations before the day you need them.

Tokyo is full. There is no more room in Tokyo. There are so many buildings that from space, Tokyo looks like the surface of the moon. There are so many people that when you find your face in someone’s armpit on a train, all you can reasonably say is, “Some of the people from Tokyo are here.”

I shouldn’t raise Tokyo above the other cities we visited. They’re full too. Tokyo is just a more convincing essay on the topic. 127 288 419 people live in Japan. You’ll find some of them pretty much everywhere you go.

Some space in Japan is set aside for gaijin. Those pesky white things, which the natural human reaction to is to stick them between your forefingers, apply pressure and squeeze until they explode, have places too. Unfortunately, Tokyo is considered cool by foreign people in Japan. It’s considered cooler than Osaka, Hiroshima and Kyoto put together. These lazy zits just want to sit in one place, and they choose, resoundingly, to clog Tokyo’s pores.

All these people meant one thing when we arrived. No rooms, no floors. In our travel book, all the rooms and floors that were under ¥7000/night were being fed on by those gaijin bacteria. It seemed as though every crevice of Tokyo’s face was already oozing and swollen.

I went into a travel center and asked for help. They found us a place in two minutes. Things that make you go, “Hmm.” Our travel-book companion was called into question, found guilty and thrown into confinement.

The best part about the place we were about stay was that we could stay for two nights straight. That removed a lot of stress, knowing now that we had a home-for-three-days. We were staying in Tokyo for four. The second best thing was that it was very near Shinjuku, which meant it was very near to everything. That isn’t because Shinjuku has everything, but that Shinjuku Station is the biggest in Tokyo making it easy to get wherever we wanted.

When we got off at the right station we naturally had no idea of where to go next. In my experience, standing with glazed eyes in front of a map almost always gets you further than looking at the map and trying to discern your position from it. Posted in front of the station exit was actually a map to where we wanted to go. We weren’t just staying at any hostel; we were staying at the Olympic Youth Centre.

So we looked at the map, our eyes glazed over and a sparkling lady in purple appeared.

Do you need help?

She asked.

Uhh.

I said.

Where are you going?

Youth hostel.

I devolved twenty thousand years.

It’s simple. You just ~~~ and then ~~~ and once you ~~~ you’ll see it on your ~~~.

Thank you so much.

Alright, so the plan worked. We started walking but were soon lost.

Weren’t you listening?

Chris asked.

I was paying attention to other things!

She was, after all, a sparkling lady in purple.

So we asked a security guard and he redirected us.

I’m in love.

I said to Chris, more or less.

You’re dehydrated.

Chris replied, more or less. Tuesdays are Healthya Water day.

Coming up to the entrance of the hostel we met Atsushi. Atsushi is a big fan of Canadian whisky. He’s from Osaka and was at the Olympic Youth Centre for a weeklong training seminar for some service industry thing. He offered us some whisky, but we had a date. We were to meet our Japanese brother Daiki in an hour.

The story of Daiki’s relatedness goes as follows: I met Daiki’s sister Kaori three years ago in Toronto. Two years ago in Japan I met Daiki through Kaori. Last year Daiki stayed with us when he came to Toronto. This year, however, Daiki’s sister suddenly stopped talking with me. Things that make you go, “Hmm.” Daiki is family now.

We met Daiki at Waseda University, which he attends. He’s studying to become a sports announcer. The sports announcer field is much more competitive in Japan.

We ate at Waseda’s cafeteria along with Daiki’s school friend. I developed another bad headache — didn’t drink enough Healthya Water I suppose. So while I held my head in anguish and made everyone feel down, we met up with another of Daiki’s friends. She was also studying to become an announcer — she bought me headache medicine; Chris bought himself a beer.

We went to the park to do fireworks. In Japan, it’s legal to do fireworks whenever you want. It’s also legal to drink beer and do fireworks. Chris caught on fast.

There was a man singing and playing the guitar by himself in the park. He was rehearsing a song that he was going to be playing for his wife at his wedding the next day.

My headache went away.

Had it been Canada we would have just blown $250 worth of fireworks in about an hour. Since it was Japan though, where fireworks are toys, I don’t think it cost more than $40. Chris took a sip of his beer and lit a flare. We all lit our flares from his and ran around like planes with blown engines.

Daiki started a Roman Candle. It was not properly grounded; the first shot was fine, the second shot was horizontal. Daiki ran up to and kicked the fireball-shooting toy away from us; the next shot went into a tree and the sparks showered down as a jogger ran underneath it.

Now it was time for the grand finale.

Daiki pulled out four measly strings and handed one to each person. The one whose burned the slowest would be the winner. This was not a joke.

It was time to go home. I told Daiki to tell his sister I wanted to talk with her. The truth is, I already knew why she wasn’t talking with me. I had a feeling, an unspeakable thought in the layers of my brain, of why she had marked my messages as spam — I turned out to be right. At this moment in time though, I only had the feeling.

On that day, oh so long ago in Kyoto, Chris and I made Tanabata too. I don’t know what Chris wrote — I think reading other’s Tanabata is pretty spiritless — but I wrote this:

I wish for Kaori to forgive me.

We returned to our home-for-three-days and I needed to shower. This place had another Japanese-style shower. Before, I vowed to be more open to the whole thing, and that was still true. I opened the door — no one was in there. I showered — and no one came in. This luck couldn’t continue forever I knew.

While brushing my teeth, Atsushi peeked around the corner of the communal sink with some Canadian Club whisky, shook it and asked if I wanted some. “So sorry,” I said after spitting into the sink, “but I’ve just brushed my teeth.”

Chris and I had separate rooms right next to each other. We set our air conditioners to ice cold and hibernated. I had to wake up at five to pee.

05 Geisha Magnets

Our plan was to stay in Kyoto for two days from the beginning. We figured that such an ancient and established city deserved two of our precious days together. The truth at the time though, was that Kyoto was making our heads swell and our feet ache. Our movements through the shifting streets were sloppy, and our patience for the seemingly sparse city was dying. We didn’t really care to be there anymore.

When we awoke, we didn’t take the cake.

We were stressed because we needed to find another place to stay. There was a chance that there would have been a cancellation where we currently were, but that didn’t happen. Reina suggested we dress up in kimonos and pretend to be girls (as there always seemed to be room for more girls), but that wasn’t our style; we prefer short skirts and high heels.

Reina, smiling of course, called another few places for us until she found one to take us for the night. Naturally, it was on the other side of Kyoto Station. We were going to take the bus. We bought all-day bus passes.

Reina gave us her contact information.

If you’re ever in Kyoto again…

She said.

The bus system was better than any I’ve ever ridden. There was a nice map with easy to understand routes, a prerecorded voice that announced the next stop, and the bus stops had displays that told you which bus is coming next and in how long. It didn’t, however, tell you what direction the bus will travel in. This was a very big problem.

So we took our bus map from Reina (unlike the receiving of city maps, receiving bus and train maps is actually very practical), and we headed to the bus stop. We waited for the right bus number, got on, and then got off at the next stop because it wasn’t travelling in the right direction. We crossed the street, waited for our number, got on the bus, and were taken to our destination stop.

But what direction were we to walk in?

We asked about four people where our hostel was, and the only common thing about the directions was that we were on the right street. We walked back and forth until in appeared from the Kyoto Mist. This was a nice place. It was a café on the first floor, and a Japanese-style hostel on the second. This means we slept on the floor and got a free drink ticket. We got banana milk — probably the best drink I’ve had in Japan. It was the Gojo café and hostel.

Our host was Mae. She studied English in England, which is surprisingly rare. She was cute and we had a Bowing War together, but that wasn’t for another twelve hours or so.

For lunch we ate ramen — Chinese noodles in a hot soup — and then we were off to the Golden Temple Pavilion.

We took the bus twenty-six stops to the pavilion (people with all-day bus passes don’t take the train). At the twenty-fourth stop we had to transfer buses. We got on the new bus, got off at the next stop, crossed the street, caught the same numbered bus and arrived at the temple three stops later.

On the bus we met a lad from Atlanta. He was into tanning, sandals and drinking too much.

Well, see ya later.

We said.

The temple itself was nice. It was very gold. Of course, if it were anything other than very gold I would have been quite upset.

Next was Gion. Gion mashes the classic Kyoto of old with the trendy Kyoto of new. Apparently the new Kyoto city planners used the old city planners’ textbooks. Kyoto, in particular, caused a lot of transportation problems.

We took the bus about twenty stops to Gion — all-day bus pass holders don’t get to Gion any other way. We weren’t going to look at our map either. No, the gaijin test would be enough for us from now on, and when we got off at Gion, boy oh boy, the gaijin were scurrying out from every corner, buzzing towards every light and sucking the blood out of all that was sacred. We should have worn a thick musk.

The bugs were so bad that we started seeing litter on the ground.

That’s Atlanta Boy’s lunch.

Chris said pointing to one heap of trash.

That’s Atlanta Boy’s breakfast.

I said pointing to a heap of empty, oversized wine bottles.

Suddenly, we were transported back in time. We were walking and suddenly the streets had changed. This is actually normal in Kyoto, but when the streets changed this time it was a whole new era. The quality of the road transformed and the architecture of the buildings warped. It was now sometime in the eighteen hundreds — I mean, except for the backlit signs and restaurants with toilets if you need them. In case you were wondering, the bugs were bad back then too.

Two geisha walked by us.

They kept their focus, despite a hazy swarm of gnat flies buzzing about them. They kept their stride, despite the incessant flashing of camera lights. Dear me Buddha, what a pest gaijin are.

Chris and I snapped pictures of our own.

We found out later that the roaches actually wait hours in Gion just to taste Geisha. Most of the time, apparently, the bugs don’t get to feed. Chris and I did not know we might see a Geisha, we had no intention of looking for one, and not only did we see two of them, there were no bugs in the swarm with better views than us. They walked right towards us, and passed by beside us.

We continued through the streets as though it were normal, as though we dated Geisha. We continued through the streets — another Geisha walked by us. This time we didn’t take a picture; we were obviously Geisha magnets.

Just as soon as we were taken back in time, we were spat out onto a flashy, gaijin-infested, fashion-inclined mega street two hundred years in the future. A bus went by – of the people who just got on, half would probably get off at the next stop.

We walked through the shopping Mecca and looked for a place to eat dinner. In the distance was Shekies – all-you-can-eat pizza, pasta and potatoes. I had been to Shekies before in Tokyo two years ago, so I suggested we eat there. Chris and my experiences were quite different.

It had become quite late and our final goal was the hostel. According to the map it wasn’t too far away. We found a main road and started walking. We walked in the wrong direction for twenty minutes. We decided to get on a bus to take us back; the bus turned when we did not expect it to so we got off. We walked all the way back to where we started, looked at the map again, confirmed that the other direction must be the right one and we walked for twenty more minutes and arrived at our home-for-the-day.

We didn’t truly believe the uselessness of city maps until after this experience.

We went to bed on the floor, turned the air conditioner to ice cold and slept wonderfully. I woke up at five to go pee.

Around nine we packed our things and said goodbye to Mae. I bowed in thanks, then she bowed in response, then I bowed lower to her response, the she responded to my response by bowing lower, then I bowed over by forty-five degrees and she did the same. Lower and lower we went until our noses were pressed to the ground. No one wins a bowing war, though both parties are humbled.

Before we left Kyoto we searched for the fish market. According to the map…oh forget it, we didn’t find it.

So we got on the Shinkansen and headed off for the final stop of our Great Meeting at 285km/h.