Sept. 23: Tokyo

So, what to do today? Sightseeing has lost its appeal, and there’s not a whole lot of it to do here in Tokyo, at least nothing I either haven’t done or done better in Kyoto. Shopping seemed to be the thing: shopping for stuff to bring the folks back home.

First, though, I went to Kinko’s to really do some internet stuff. The manager there was an American guy with red hair -- actual hair-color, not dyed, which was refreshing in a country that’s gone dye-mad -- and I managed to spend over an hour there, at ¥200 for ten minutes. But nobody harrassed me, and they actually had a Mac to work on, so I felt at home. After that, I decided to see about going to the Akihibara electronics district, “Electric City,” to see what was up. I started walking down the street, and figured, hey, it’s a lovely day, crisp and sunny, so I’d just walk all the way down Aoyama-dori to Shibuya.

Which I wound up doing, stopping at the Kinokuniya food shop to take a look around at all the stuff they had there (including lots of Western stuff I can’t get in Berlin, of course) and then just sauntering on. A lovely tree-lined street which was far more reminiscent of Paris than Otomesando dumped me into Shibuya, which was every bit as nutzo as it had been last night, even though it was noon. I was going to get on the circle line, because the station I wanted was there, but then remembered that last night on my way out I’d caught sight of a Tokyu Hands department store, and that had come highly recommended.

What a place! Basically, if it’s not food, furniture or clothing, they’ve got it. I started out looking for one of those lighters in the shape of a video camera to give Susan, and found some rather avant-garde ones instead, which I picked up. Then I headed up to the top, and wound up in the pen department, where I discovered that Japanese shop help is every bit as helpful as German shop help. Or maybe it’s just that the guy couldn’t wait on me and the extremely demanding, wealthy-looking woman who was also vying for his time simultaneously. But I finally found a few cool items, and bought them, then headed downstairs to the cookware department, where I scored a ginger grater (after seeing the woman grate the wasabi that first night in town, I finally figured out how to use one) and a number of lovely sets of chopsticks. Fought my way to the first floor again, and made it back to Shibuya Station, and got on the circle line and headed to my station.

I was actually pretty disappointed overall by this legendary place, but I guess I didn’t explore much. I did run into a guy with a booth in the street selling a whole shitload of weird lighters, including a canteloupe-sized silver head of Hitler (?), and, I was happy to see, the video recorder one. I got another for Calton, who seemed fascinated by my description. As I understand, the plastic food district is also near here (actually, it’s not far, but it’s not exactly near), and I have Tuesday free, so I could go back. But the megastores with their tax-free departments were where I was headed, because the sales help spoke English. There simply weren’t many things on display that were too different from what you’d see in any other electronics store, though, and you have to spend ¥100,000 before you get your break. One nice item was a GPS watch Casio is making, which will give you latitude and longitude, but also synchs to a cradle on your desktop which connects with a CD-ROM in your computer with maps on it. Thus, you can load in where you’re going and get detailed info on your watch. Trouble is, one of the guys explained that the map feature’s only available in Japanese and the only map available is Japan. Too bad. I could use something like that on my travels around Europe.

All I wound up getting was a pair of headphones for the CD player, because I’ve come to hate the ear-buds. As for the GPS watch...I’m not going to be exploring in Japan much any more. I now, however, had shopping fatigue, and it was a long ride on the circle back home, so I packed it in for the day.

On my way back, I was waiting at a light and there was a kid across the street wearing a red sweatshirt with a white circle and a black swastika inside it. Basically, a Nazi flag. I was astonished: was he crazy, or just stupid? I glanced at his back as I crossed the road and saw that it had come from SS Enterprises of Fresno, California. Figures. But he could have been wearing it in all innocence, as a protest or a gesture of nonconformity, since he probably knew it was something that pissed people off and thought that was cool. Or he could, I guess, have been a Nazi. They may well exist here for all I know.

At Shibuya I made a mistake. I started riding on the Yamanote circle line, and found that where I was was about half-way around from where I was going. Feeling impatient, and knowing I was only three stops away, I got off at Shibuya. That’s where it went wrong. I spent 45 minutes looking for the Ginza line, which turned out to be on the third floor (and why shouldn’t the subway be on the third floor?), and then bought what seemed to be the right ticket, only to have the machines refuse it. I went looking for another line and couldn’t find it, and found I was walking around in circles. I was already tired, and now I was getting angry as well. Finally I decided the only thing to do was to walk all the way back up Ayoma-dori. And that’s what I did.

I called Calton when I got back, and he reported that Robb Satterwhite had checked in, so after a torturous round of phone calls, we all agreed to meet and go to an art opening in a bar called Radio On. Robb and a friend of his from London met me on a bench in front of a fancy department store called Bel Common, and we walked down a small street to the bar, which was on the 7th floor. Good view, dull art, a fine Tokyo Ale, and nice folks hanging out, a very mixed crowd, which made me feel comfortable. They have a low-wattage radio station, too, which Robb says is both legal and not uncommon in clubs here, broadcasting pretty much to the immediate neighborhood, and played in a number of other clubs around the area. Calton lives out in the burbs, so it took him some time to get in, and by the time he arrived, Robb had plans to go meet some folks for dinner. He recommended a a tofu restaurant on the top of Bel Common, where, he said, they make the tofu right at your table. Sounded odd, but we headed off there.

Calton is half-Japanese, grew up as an Air Force brat, and came to Japan because a girlfriend -- a French girlfriend, no less -- wanted to study Japanese. Not long after they got here, she decided to marry a Japanese guy, and for the past year poor Calton’s been obsessing about it. He doesn’t speak Japanese, doesn’t go out much, doesn’t know a whole lot about the place, and seems to be stuck on what happened to him. I’ve been there, and it’s not a place to live, and I’d like to communicate that to him, but he’s going to have to find his way out of it himself, I’m afraid, like we all do. We got to Bel Common, and it turned out there were a lot of restaurants there, but the tofu place was closing in 20 minutes, so we took what appeared to be a soba/tempura place instead. They didn’t have Japanese menus, and didn’t seem to want us there, plus Calton wasn’t particularly hungy, but I sort of forced the issue with them, and they grumpily took our order, as we pointed to some photos in the menu. My “set” involved a lot of small dishes up front, some sashimi, a salad, assorted pickles, some tempura, and some soba laid out neatly on a large box, plus some soup with what appeared to be fish dumplings in it. I think the guy was happy to see us go, but what the hell, I had dinner.

Cal walked me back to the hotel and vanished into the night, I read some, and went to bed.