The Bells and Whistles of Tokyo

**Note: This is not the be all and end all treatise of Tokyo. It's just the extremely limited exposure that I had with only a few free hours each day. If you’re interested in/going to Tokyo, there's TONS more than this; it's only a scratch of the surface**

An aside back to Tokyo, if you will, as the memories are still fresh in mind with only a little more than a week's worth of dust on them. As Mike was so fond in pointing out, Tokyo in many ways reminded he and I of Toronto - If you can imagine the GTA on steroids and multiply it by 8. But past the ridiculous amount of people, apparent lack of garbage cans (Outside of the hotel, I saw two garbages the entire time. Then again, Tokyo was also ridiculously clean. Go figure), blond-haired Japanese kids, and no jaywalking, it almost could have been University or Queen or Bay. For the most part, the little that we did see of Tokyo was the inside of the Keio Plaza Hotel, which in and of itself isn't TOO bad considering it's a stupidly nice hotel.

So I got to my room first (us JETs had to double or triple up on rooms. After all, paying for 1,000 separate rooms is a bit much), and took the time to relax and catch my breath after being up for just about 24 hours (it was about 5 in the afternoon, so I still had a full night to go yet). First thing I did, as many people do after a trip, is use the washroom. There I had my first subtle taste of culture shock. Now, I couldn't find the lever to flush the toilet (I would soon discover that it was on the side of the sink) so here I am looking like a kid in front of a new toy touching every this and that with the hopes of getting my desired result. There was a small pad with buttons – yes, buttons on a toilet – but I decided to steer clear lest I blast the bidet sky high. In my confused stupor, I accidentally bumped the side of the toilet seat with my hand and all of a sudden the water inside starts recycling and moving about and such. Considering my next-to-no knowledge of Japanese toilets aside from what I saw once on the Simpsons, I half expected this thing to sprout arms and legs, come to life, and flush itself or something. I mean, I just touched it and it was making like it’s performing a systems check for mission control. My darting eyes found the lever just then and that was that. You might think that it's a little embarrassing that a toilet would give me so much difficulty, but it just serves to show that many of us would have similar experiences with machines, conventions, and people that back home we wouldn't think twice over (don't get me started on the washing machine...).

The first night was rather straightforward. We met up with Teru, our old TA from university who has since finished and is now living in Tokyo. Went to a little hold-in-the-wall-in-the-basement restaurant where we sat on tatami (Japanese straw mat that's found just about everywhere. Houses, restaurants, etc.), ate I don't even know what except for the fact that it was awesome, and drank beer by the mug. A typical Japanese evening out.

Evening came, morning followed. Orientations ran, JETs slept. The second day.

So after discarding our formal whatnaught for our comfortable civvies, we hit the town again mid-afternoon with the original plan of checking out the Imperial Palace and Akibahara (Akibahara is the electronics gadget section of Tokyo. The Mecca of nerds worldwide. All the best stuff that won't come out for years in the West is to be found here). That was the plan, anyways. After some deliberation and slight uncomfortableness, the group split in two and those I was with went to get some lunch. We popped into this tiny place, space for maybe a dozen or so, where we're on stools sitting more or less around the chef. At our head level is a conveyor belt system that goes through the kitchen and out. For those who've never seen this sort of place, I'll explain:
The chef makes individual-sized portions of food and puts it on the conveyor belt, which circles around and passes in front of all the customers. If you see something that you like, you take it off and eat it. You stack the plates that you've eaten into a little pile. When you're finished, the waitress tallied you bill by checking the plates – the colour and texture of the plate determines the price of it (anywhere from about $1.05-$3.50 CAD). Oh, and on the belt, there are prices before the plates so you know what you're paying for. This gets mad thumbs up because you can stop eating whenever you want, catering to those after a quick bite or a full meal, and also you can eat only what you like and skip those things that would make your stomach turn.
I dropped about $7.50 for a full meal of about six or so plates, which the dudes I was with piles up about nine or ten.

That evening was karaoke.

…

I'm reticent to explain it as it is a common experience throughout Japan repeated thousands, if tens or hundred of thousands of times a night, every night. But in a nutshell, you pile as many people as you can into a room, depending on your price, you order drink by drink or get unlimited and drink as fast as you can. Then you sing, sing, sing. And talk and eat and drink and sing... The beer is what helps encouraging the courage and audacity of many, especially those for whom it should be illegal to hold a microphone. And also those who never want to be caught dead singing in public, i.e. me. Needless to say, Ray plus several hours of free beer plus a mic plus a directory book that has Ne-Yo in it is a very rare (hopefully), messy, and volatile combination. ‘Nuff said.

Evening came, morning followed. Orientations ran, JETs slept. The third day.

The formal was retired and the normal clothes returned, I decided to buy a camera on me last night. Mike, Keith and I hit up this huge electronics store not far from the hotel, and Mike and I managed to score good deals on some camera. We hit up a little (maybe a dozen people big – many restaurants in Tokyo, much like everything else, are economy size for your convenience) soba place for dinner, and sat down. After five minutes of wondering where a waitress was, a tiny obaasan (grandmother) appeared from the kitchen hollering, "Mazu kippu, soshite agete! Kippu, soshite agete", which meant that we had to pay a machine first with our order, and then it would print a ticket with what we wanted that we gave directly to the kitchen. Our dumb gaijin (foreigner) butts got the message and we complied. After dinner, most people just leave, or say “gochisosama [deshita]” (it was a big feast – said when you’re done eating) and walk out. I made a point to pass by the kitchen to thank the chef (s) and the little obaasan and comment on how tasty the noodles were. You should have seen their faces light up and the bowing that returned the comment. I suppose that they were surprised at someone saying such a thing. It just goes to show: make the little efforts here and there, and people respond in ways you might not expect.

We met up with Keith and Mike's friend later on for another dinner, and went to some non-descript place for random munchies. The entire time, Mike, Anna, and I were playing with our new cameras without pause. Those who get new electronics frequently will know what I mean when I say that getting a new gadget is like opening the big present on Christmas morning. Your socks are knocked off and all reality becomes solely what's in the box – everything else may as well be blown to blazes and you're still sitting there glassy-eyed admiring your new toy. Especially if that toy comes straight from Japan and has features yet to be introduced sometime. Remind me to tell you about my cell phone sometime...

It was a quiet evening after which we returned to the hotel to run into a rather inebriated Keith who thought that beer was candy and he was smack in the store, let me tell you. The five or six of us relaxed in Mike & Keith's room to spend our last evening together for quite a while before we left in the morning for our new digs. But you've already read about that, right, and probably don't want to hear about it again.