Day Two
It’s always weird for me waking up in another bed. Perhaps, not a hotel, because that’s not someone’s bed. it’s a just a bed. But waking up in someone’s bed, someone’s house that is not my own for the first time is always hard. Add to that I was in a foreign country for the first time and was waking in a country that wasn’t mine, and it was really hard. Thoughts of not belonging, despite everyone’s wonderful attempts crippled me.
So, I sat up, opened the drapes and just stared outside. Granted, there wasn’t much I could see, a narrow street – they’re all narrow here – an eight foot high wall covered in shrubs and steep rooflines somewhere off in the distant. Occasionally a girl in a school outfit, or a giant produce truck would drive by. I did this for hours until everyone else woke up. It helped though, I was able to meditate a great deal, and throw a lot of the feelings I was having away. I could breath, my stomach settled. Still no sleep, but it was progress.
When everyone else woke, I helped take the dog for a walk, got to see a great deal of Fussa-shi. Here, the streets are even narrower. An alley here would give an American on a motorcycle trouble. All that garbage we tend to give a Japanese drivers for being poor is utter bullshit. The daredevil feats they’re routinely required to perform just to navigate the plethora of bicycles, and two way traffic on what would be a one lane road in America is awe-inspiring.
There isn’t much to Fussa-shi, a river, and housing, really and despite the color palette being very drab, I saw a lot I found beautiful. There was a stream, bricked in on both sides, under the shade of some trees. It was so peaceful. Wish I had brought my camera.
The highlight of the walk had to be when Tomoko pulled me aside and pointed a house very shyly, coyly; “That’s Yakuza house. We can’t let our dogs pee on that wall.” Apparently someone had let their dog pee on that wall before. I never did hear what happened to that dog.
We ate breakfast, a Japanese take on a very American breakfast, fried egg, sausage, broccoli, tomatoes and toast. Soy sauce for the egg of course. I had also never had peanut cream before. It’s not peanut butter for sure, it has a similar taste, sure, but the consistency is much, much different. Something closer to jam or honey.
We then got ready for a trip to Shinjuku, Harajuku, and Shibuya.
The first step was to rush to Fussa Station because there’s no such thing as a train being late in Japan. If it’s supposed to arrive at three, it arrives at three. Five minutes late is a complete failure. I tell you, it must be nice being able to rely on public transportation.
The train system would never fly in America. At least, not west coast. We like our space way too much, and, even on what was by all accounts, not a busy day, space is something you just don’t have much of on a train. I can get behind that, though, I admire it. it’s efficient and smart. Pack as many people in as you can and get them quickly from one place to another.
One thing I was painfully reminded of on the train is that I abnormally giant for Japan. six-foot-one and one-seventy just doesn’t happen here. I had to bow my head the whole time on the train so that the handle in front of me wouldn’t repeatedly pummel me in the forehead.
This is a trend that Japanese discourse is built on. A rule I repeatedly broke when trying to talk to Tomoko was that I often found myself on the right side of an escalator. Should you just want to ride the escalator, you must get as far left as possible. The right side is for those who choose to walk up the escalator like stairs. I tell you, this would make me so happy if people would do that in Seattle. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been frustrated because I’ve been slowed by Big Mac and her four Happy Meal children as I try to mount the escalator. Mount? What am I…spelunking? And if you’ll notice a lot of McDonald’s references, I’m sorry. One thing I have found grating is department store-sized McDonald’s. When I get to posting pictures, you’ll see what I mean.
In the favor of brevity — yeah, right — I’ll skip the rest and just discuss the places I went.
Shinjuku – So, if you’ve heard anything about Tokyo, you’ve heard of Shinjuku. There isn’t a Miike gangster flick that doesn’t take place in Shinjuku. Without sounding all Plato, Allegory of the Cave, the second I emerged from the station it hit me. This was unlike any other place i had ever been. The scale here was grand even for Tokyo. Massive full color billboards (some with mostly naked dudes) completely dominate the eyesight. Entire skyscrapers are draped in billboards.
There is a department store unlike one I’ve ever been in, Takashimaya, It itself is at least five stories tall. However it doesn’t end there. Inside there is Kinokuniya book store (four levels). Also inside is Tokyo Hands which is eight levels and as was described to me has “everything.” As we ascended to the top floor in search of arts and crafts I spotted floors for furniture, sports, men’s fine wear, luggage. And when i say it had a floor, I don’t mean a section like at JC Penny’s. It was like seeing an Ikea, a Big 5, and a Men’s warehouse at each stop. Comically, the one thing we were after — paint thinner — it didn’t have.
It seems every building in Shinjuku uses its vertical space. Stairs leading below the building may lead to restaurants. The first floor may be a Gap clothing, or a pachinko parlor. Above that, more department stores, and above that a place to eat. This is city planning, people.
As a pedestrian one thing that also caught my eye is the giant size of a cross walk compared to the size of the street. You see, streets in Tokyo are narrow across lanes, but the crosswalks are deep. You will have a good 100+ people cross these streets at every given moment. A sea of flesh bounding across a street.
Also, a massive moving crab sign. Awesome.
Harajuku – First things first…I spotted a massive soccer [sic] shop from the train as we came in to the station. A massive four-level soccer shop. I had to go. I am SO glad we don’t have a store like this in Seattle. I am also glad that they apparently don’t make anything larger than a medium in Japan. I could have lost 20, 000 yen ($200) there, easily.
Harajuku, as was told to me, is marketed solely at one demographic. High school students. It showed as alleys were lined on both sides with kiosks, little hole in the wall stores, selling all kinds of hip wares (hip wares? clearly, I’m hip) all blasting loud music — Japanese hip hop, American pop, dance music — as loudly as possible, with representatives from each store trying to funnel consumers in to their little stores. I can’t think this is a sound marketing strategy. At least, not with my slanted views. All that noise just created a loud cacophony, one thing barely distinguishable from the other. Maybe if I were younger, though, it would work just fine. As it were, though, it was obvious, I was not who they were after with these stores.
Shibuya – Shibuya is not quite Shinjuku yet, not Harajuku either. Shinjuku is massive and all encompassing. Fast moving yet under control. There’s anything for anyone. Harajuku is very “immature.” it’s hip; loud, bright and flashy, but smaller, and a a little more affordable. It’s for the teens. Shibuya is, massive, too, but, seemed to have a different pace. Clothing stores everywhere. And the largest Starbucks I’d ever seen. And for my Seattle people who complain about their four-dollar coffee whatevers… You’re looking at a 400 yen (4 dollar) short here.
And little spots of industry blotted the rampant, clothes buying consumerism.
Shibuya is known for mostly two things — justly or not — Hachiko and Shibuya 109 (Women’s – all though, there is a men’s).
“In 1924, Hachikō was brought to Tokyo by his owner, Hidesamurō Ueno (上野英三郎), a professor in the agriculture department at the University of Tokyo. During his owner’s life, Hachikō saw him off from the front door and greeted him at the end of the day at the nearby Shibuya Station. Even after Ueno’s death in May 1925, Hachikō returned every day to the station to wait for him, and did so for the next 10 years. In 1928, a new station master came to Shibuya Station who grew fond of the dog and allowed him free run of the facility. Hachikō still kept his schedule, but also was allowed to remain in the station throughout the day, sleeping in a storeroom set aside for him by the new station master.
Hachikō’s devotion to his lost master moved those around him, who nicknamed him “faithful dog”. Others at the station initially thought it was waiting for something else or roaming around but later realized it was waiting for its dead owner. So the vendors there used to give some bits of food and water. Others doubted it and said the dog might have come because of the food the vendors gave for it. But it appeared only in the evening time, precisely when the train was due at the station.”
This story has always resonated with me and I really wanted to see the Hachiko statue, despite it being such a tourist trap. It’s rather sad to the story behind the memorial lost on Japan’s youth. It’s just a cool place to hang out now.
Shibuya 109 is well, I don’t really know. it starts with the glitzy signage, and the gorilla-suit rock band TV screen (which sadly I failed to take a picture of). The building itself is full with wares marketed towards hip, young women. It is like Harajuku, amped up even more and then all crammed inside a very narrow five level building. Loud music, each story playing it’s own brand of loud, abrasive music, people being shoved into each of the stores. The clothing, well, Tomoko says Paris Hilton loved 109, so, I’ll let you run with that.
Some of the English-slogans on the tees would be considered with some offense in America. The highlights: one of the young girls working a store had written across her chest “I love coconut milk” which, I’m sure the connotations were lost on her and, of course the puple, grungy, smiley face baby doll tee that read “Bring, Bring Bone!”
I’m tired of typing for now, and my battery is about to die. I’m done for day two. Oyasumi!
