Defiantly, I held my boarding pass and passport in one hand and my carry-on goodie bag (complete with iPod, books, sleeping pills, motion sickness sniffer, eye-mask, moisturiser and a forest of Reese's) in the other, all the while thinking about the 10 days of absolute isolation and estrangement that were to come and save me from two months of cosmic battery.
And "just like that"(i.e. 14 fucking hours later), I was sitting on the Narita Express heading to "downtown" Tokyo. In that smooth gliding train-car, I remembered why I had travelled this far alone. I watched this foreign world go by in high-definition and, looking around me at all the signs, words and even objects that I could not even begin to understand, the excitement started to rumble in my chest. I was, finally, alone and free. I had flipped the coin, and very well. I went from information overload, over-communication, over-exposure and disarray to silence, reclusiveness and Japanese efficiency. Nobody spoke English. My phone had run out of batteries and I refused to charge it for the duration of my stay. My computer was snuggled on my couch in London. What bliss, I was ready for my adventure.
And indeed, I spent 10 days roaming the claustrophobic island between bullet trains, Zen temples nestled in mountains, and one of the most energetic cities I have every visited.
Tokyo's intensity was a shock. There is no "downtown" Tokyo because all of it is super-urban and super-crowded. Every corner is a Times Square, a Piccadilly Circus. Lights blaze down on you from every inch of every building. People move like schools of fish in spectacular harmony. As I understood nothing of what was going on around me, I walked around with my Lonely Planet close to hand (whilst I would usually feel self-conscious about bearing such an atrocious token of the League ofStraight Dull Back-Packers, I had no shame in doing so in Tokyo: this city is one place where I was going to stick out as a Gaijin (a foreigner) no matter what I did).
Alas it was spectacular fun. Though I understood nothing, everyone was kind in ways I could not begin to describe, and honesty is central to their culture, so nobody ever tried to take advantage of my glaring ignorance.
About 4 days into the trip, I levelled with myself and decided to cut through some of the BS – bullet trains with full view of Mount Fuji are fun, and I did go through a rebirth ritual or two in Kyoto – but when you get right down to it, nothing says spiritual cleanse like a brand new wardrobe and shiatsu massage.
So, after a killer massage by a highly experiencedand disappointingly unattractive masseur, I attempted to go shopping.
As with everything in that city, what was on offer was astonishing. The clothes were unlike anything I had ever seen before. "Camp" took on a whole new meaning. There was real creativity in design, in fabric and in structure. No hang ups about fur, knee high red boots, or silk and studded shirts. But after the third fitting room it started to dawn on me –I'm a fat bitch! I'm an XL Gaijin. Most stores didn't even hold my size. Ok, I'm a European Medium, and an American Small, depending on whether we're talking haute couture or Zara, but my body has never been wrapped in anything marked with an "L" (unless you're talking leather Louboutin). So whilst accepting the fact that I am classified as a cow (a Gaijin cow) in Tokyo, I was not ready to accept that I was going to go home empty handed. Alas, I found a pair of silver metallic "come-fuck-me" half-boots and an equestrian blazer, but had I starved myself for a few months prior I would have come home with so much more. (Stay tuned.)
In any event, after my shopping escapades failed (though truthfully, just browsing the fabulous stores was enough to give me the kick), I turned to my other past-time: partying. I was debating whether I wanted to go to an 'institutional' club or just the local gay hole in the wall. I soon learned that the latter was not a very preferable option for Gaijin, and I spent about an hour in the former before realising that people in Japan still listen to techno at 170 beats per minute and that my ears may actually start bleeding (note to reader: since the advent of minimal techno in 2004, respectable European techno rarely passes 120 bpm threshold). Alas, I hit "Arty Farty", a London Soho-style bar with your average cheesy music collection and 15 year old prostitutes. I looked down at the crowd (I was the tallest one there) and realised, here's another relaxing thing about Japan: I felt zero sexual tension. So I met up with some friends that had been seconded in Tokyo for work and we drank and debauched to the extent possible.
On the Narita Express back to the airport the sun was just coming up. Its rays bounced off of the steel and glass of the buildings on either side of the tracks. My head rested against the large spotless window with my iPod whispering in my ears. The conductor would occasionally make an indecipherable announcement in his soft respectful voice. I did not want to go back to London – to the stress, the sleepless nights and the cold, damp streets. But I knew I did not belong in Tokyo. Though I am lucky I even got to experience this country, it is a parallel universe. I closed my eyes and fell asleep as the train slithered between high-rises.
And "just like that"
And indeed, I spent 10 days roaming the claustrophobic island between bullet trains, Zen temples nestled in mountains, and one of the most energetic cities I have every visited.
Tokyo's intensity was a shock. There is no "downtown" Tokyo because all of it is super-urban and super-crowded. Every corner is a Times Square, a Piccadilly Circus. Lights blaze down on you from every inch of every building. People move like schools of fish in spectacular harmony. As I understood nothing of what was going on around me, I walked around with my Lonely Planet close to hand (whilst I would usually feel self-conscious about bearing such an atrocious token of the League of
Alas it was spectacular fun. Though I understood nothing, everyone was kind in ways I could not begin to describe, and honesty is central to their culture, so nobody ever tried to take advantage of my glaring ignorance.
About 4 days into the trip, I levelled with myself and decided to cut through some of the BS – bullet trains with full view of Mount Fuji are fun, and I did go through a rebirth ritual or two in Kyoto – but when you get right down to it, nothing says spiritual cleanse like a brand new wardrobe and shiatsu massage.
So, after a killer massage by a highly experienced
As with everything in that city, what was on offer was astonishing. The clothes were unlike anything I had ever seen before. "Camp" took on a whole new meaning. There was real creativity in design, in fabric and in structure. No hang ups about fur, knee high red boots, or silk and studded shirts. But after the third fitting room it started to dawn on me –
In any event, after my shopping escapades failed (though truthfully, just browsing the fabulous stores was enough to give me the kick), I turned to my other past-time: partying. I was debating whether I wanted to go to an 'institutional' club or just the local gay hole in the wall. I soon learned that the latter was not a very preferable option for Gaijin, and I spent about an hour in the former before realising that people in Japan still listen to techno at 170 beats per minute and that my ears may actually start bleeding (note to reader: since the advent of minimal techno in 2004, respectable European techno rarely passes 120 bpm threshold). Alas, I hit "Arty Farty", a London Soho-style bar with your average cheesy music collection and 15 year old prostitutes. I looked down at the crowd (I was the tallest one there) and realised, here's another relaxing thing about Japan: I felt zero sexual tension. So I met up with some friends that had been seconded in Tokyo for work and we drank and debauched to the extent possible.
On the Narita Express back to the airport the sun was just coming up. Its rays bounced off of the steel and glass of the buildings on either side of the tracks. My head rested against the large spotless window with my iPod whispering in my ears. The conductor would occasionally make an indecipherable announcement in his soft respectful voice. I did not want to go back to London – to the stress, the sleepless nights and the cold, damp streets. But I knew I did not belong in Tokyo. Though I am lucky I even got to experience this country, it is a parallel universe. I closed my eyes and fell asleep as the train slithered between high-rises.
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