Armed with a bit more boots-on-the-ground knowledge of Japan, Tokyo got off to a much smoother start than Kyoto. After exiting from the shinkansen, we switched to one of the local rail systems (there are several in Tokyo) and rode to Shinjuku station, the world’s busiest train station; I can attest that it is overwhelming and quasi-chaotic. After checking into our hotel, we walked around Shinjuku – a central ward of Tokyo and essentially a microcosm of the city at large – for a few hours to get the lay of the land. After an adequate (but unfortunately not California-level) veggie burrito lunch, we retreated to our hotel in the mid-afternoon and while Andrew took a power nap, I spent some time building a Google map of veggie restaurants to make our dining over the next week somewhat easier.
That evening, we hunted down one of the restaurants on the map, had an excellent dinner, then went out in search of some live music. Some research on Timeout led us to O-Nest, a two-floor music venue and bar. There were four indie acts of varying talent, including a man who looped the sound of his own voice (with no actual music) in a strange piece of performance art. The Japanese folks in the crowd laughed a lot at whatever he was saying, so I guess it couldn’t have been that bad. A pleasant side-effect of going to this venue is that the closest train station is next to Shibuya’s scramble crossing, one of the busiest pedestrian intersections in the world. It’s not uncommon for tourists to grab a table at one of the local businesses (e.g. Starbucks) and people-watch the crossing. We spent a few minutes enjoying the neon lights and bustling crowds before heading home.
We rose early the next morning to catch sight of one of the really unique aspects of Japanese culture: sumo. There are tournaments three times a year and unfortunately our trip didn’t coincide with any of them, but there was an open practice scheduled, which turned out to be entertaining and enlightening in its own right. The practice was at the same stadium as the tournaments and even though we arrived only shortly after it began, the only seats available were in the upper sections. While the action below was fascinating, it was also interesting to see what kind of crowd came to a Tuesday morning practice. I had figured it would be almost entirely older men, but they were only a fraction of the spectators. Families, school children, professionals, and teenagers escaped from school or work to watch the practice. I think the big appeal is that the practices are free to attend and people can still see the wrestlers, watch some matches, sit in the stadium, and enjoy some of the traditions and rituals.
Through some protocol that I didn’t quite pick up on, the wrestlers would determine amongst themselves who would fight the winner of the previous match. They would wrestle for several rounds until the loser decided he had had enough and another competitor would step in. The wrestlers not participating in the current match would either stand off to the side to stretch and stomp or stand around the ring to break up the wrestlers should emotions run too high.
When the wrestlers weren’t facing off in matches, they were engaging in a brute-force-style practice whereby one wrestler (who I’ll call the “defense”) would brace his body and hold it steady while another wrestler (the “offense”) would try to push him across the entire ring. The defense locks his back leg and lets his feet slide across the dirt while the offense pushes. It’s similar to American football players pushing the sled in their practices. Each offensive wrestler would go about four full-ring pushes, then tap out with a funny sideways roll in the dirt. A few times, the offensive wrestler, clearly exhausted, would have a lot of trouble reaching four pushes, at which point there was a semi-humorous public shaming ritual whereby the offensive player would get on all fours and the defensive player would flip him over onto his back via a light kick to the side. (You can see this in one of the photos below.) Whenever this happened, the crowd would liven up and cheer on the wrestler until he could muster up the strength and energy to finish out his pushes.
After the practice was over, we walked outside to the front of the stadium and contemplated our next move, while noticing a lot of people were congregating next to the main stairs. After a couple minutes, some of the wrestlers started appearing in their street clothes and walked through the crowd, stopping every few seconds to pose for pictures or sign an autograph. No smiles from the wrestlers though, which you could chalk up to sumo culture or sheer exhaustion. It was really interesting to see the orderliness and politeness of the crowd, especially given that there were no real barricades and only a couple security officers. After the wrestlers made their way through the crowd to the street, they casually walked home, hysterically conspicuous given their traditional clothes and massive stature. In fact, we inadvertently followed one for a block or two on our way back to one of the nearby train stations.
Our next stop was Akihabara, a district known for its otaku (roughly translated as “geek” or “nerd”) and its businesses catering to such types, such as IT malls, arcades, and maid cafes. After wandering around the neighborhood for a bit and doing some window-shopping, we decided to partake in the culture and visit one of the maid cafes. On paper, the idea of a maid cafe definitely seems geared towards lonely and/or nerdy guys (of all ages), but the crowd was surprisingly peppered with a few girls. The waitresses all wear French maid outfits, refer to male patrons as “Master”, and chat it up with customers. The length of time that the waitresses hang around and the interest level they (pretend to) have seems to be roughly proportional to how much money the customers spend on coffee, snacks, food, or drinks. The entire scene feels like it runs the risk of being sexualized or fetishized by perverted Westerners, but in the moment, everything is playful and benign.
Andrew and I treated ourselves to a couple coffees, complete with toppings of our own design: a pig for Andrew, and “me” for me. We were there for about an hour and since we were seated directly in front of the small stage, we had an excellent view of the on-stage antics: a musical number performed by all the waitresses and the embarrassed, self-conscious otaku who was pulled onstage to celebrate his five hundredth visit (as recorded by his membership card). The waitresses sang a song to him and he did his best to avoid eye contact with most everyone. After finishing our coffees, we posed for a Polaroid photo with our waitress and received several complimentary gifts before taking our leave.
That evening, after another Google Maps-driven dinner, we went for a drink at New York Bar on the 52nd floor of the Park Hyatt Tokyo, better known as the fancy bar that appears in multiple scenes in Lost in Translation. It’s easy to see why they chose this setting for the movie: the bar is gorgeous, elegant, massive, and offers some incredible views of the city. These amenities come with a significant price tag though, so we bounced after one round (and before the hefty cover charge started).
Our next (and evidently only) stop of the evening was Golden Gai, a fascinating nightlife area in Shinjuku. It’s extremely small, with tiny streets and alleys, and yet fits over 200 bars. Most of the bars we saw could seat only 6-8 customers; imagine a large closet with a fully-stocked bar and a handful of stools. Following our usual “not empty, not full, and no white people” method of selection, we settled into one of the cozy closet bars for a few rounds and a lot of pleasant conversation with the two bartenders, both of whom could speak English. Many beers and whiskies later, we stumbled out and grabbed a taxi home to grab some sleep before our excursion to Hakone the next day.
