I’m already taking a departure from my usual content to discuss a recent jaunt - something that, in fact, did not get on my nerves.
We took a three-day to trip to Tokyo, and I wouldn’t recommend it. Instead, I would suggest taking at least a week to explore that beautiful city.
As I spent an inordinately short time there, I have a limited set of experiences, but I loved what I saw. At the same time, there were a lot of things that I found peculiar, in a hilarious way.
Let’s discuss.
The excellence
I’d heard that the Japanese were dedicated to perfection, however I don’t like to fall victim to stereotypes - either positive or negative. But my experiences definitely supported the claim.
I had some of the most amazing service in Tokyo. I couldn’t resist boutique shopping, despite the cold and rainy weather, and in each purchase at different stores, the sales associates thanked me for my purchases, and took care to wrap my shopping bags in additional plastic bags to avoid having the contents being ruined by a downpour. These weren’t makeshift! The stores had stashes of perfectly-sized clear plastic bags, made specifically to cater to their customers on rainy days. It was a nice touch!
In the US, the SAs just throw your shit in a basic, flimsy bag (for an additional $0.07), and hope your merch doesn’t get waterlogged. If they care at all. (They usually don’t). We could stand an infusion of excellence in the States.
The fashion
I love nothing more than a dedication to one’s look, and the streets of Japan are full of people who have taken great care to foster their personal style.
And they COMMIT.
It’s not uncommon to see women dressed in baby-doll-length dresses, knee-high socks with 6-inch platform mary janes. But they don’t stop there — they also go in with a full face makeup beat to support the ‘fit. If I lived there, I would go broke buying brands from local Japanese designers found in high-end boutiques, whose modern garments are beautifully crafted and so well-designed.
Maybe not baby doll dresses for me, but I respect the choice.
The language
While I encountered several people who spoke English — especially in high-end fashion stores — the signs and menus were often in Japanese characters. As they should be. Because I try to be respectful in foreign countries, I learned the words for hello (konnichiwa) and thank you (arigato). Beyond general greetings, we managed to get around with the valuable assistance of Google Translator, which allows users to type in a phrase, or point their phones at a page of Japanese characters and get an immediate translation.
Because of this feature, I will no longer side-eye the high salaries at Google. For allowing me to intelligently order a meal and matriculate while having somewhat of a sense of what’s going on around me, they’ve earned their keep.
The car services
Regrettably, we never took the train while in Tokyo, despite it being billed as the most efficient method of travel. It was much easier (lazier) to take Uber or engage cabs via the Uber app. Unlike the cars here in the US, the drivers have the complete ability to open and close the rear passenger doors. I’m talking any kind of door — from the minivan variety of sliding doors, or traditional car doors. This was a bit off-putting.
When we arrived at our destinations, the driver would happily turn, wave and utter a phrase that I didn’t recognize, before the door flew open, by itself. To be clear, I barely understood the two Japanese words that I “knew”. I’ve since come to believe that the cab driver goodbye translated to: “get the fuck out of my car.” Only physical ejection from the seat would have made it more unsettling.
I guess Google Translator can’t help with everything.
The hunt for stores / restaurants
The trouble with getting kicked out of cars is the immediate confusion you will feel when looking for your destination. The husband’s business partner, FB, was with us, and he passed along the best advice that was shared with him by a local during one of his previous visits: “If you don’t immediately find your destination, look up.” While we Americans are accustomed to the garden variety ground floor store or restaurant in the US, there is far more vertical commercial real estate in Tokyo. It took us a while to find businesses that were nestled on the 7th floor, with limited signage. And even if there was signage, it was in Japanese and required translation (Once again, Google Translator is the real MVP).
The tchotcke mega stores
It’s not hard to find these stores, which are located in tourist districts. This one is located in busy Shibuya, which is where we stayed, and home of the famous Shibuya Crossing. These stores are complete sensory overloads with lots of beeping and blaring videos to direct the consumer attention to the loads of crap they’re hawking. We’re talking snugglis, t-shirts, random Japanese candies, matcha madness, and endless displays of Hello Kitty. They make it impossible to escape all seven floors of craziness without making at least one purchase due to . . .
The tax free options
It’s common for retailers to offer a tax-free option for international travelers, which is lovely and saved me a lot of money (on items that I shouldn’t have purchased in the first place, but that’s a different topic altogether). If you’re going to Japan, make sure to have your passport on hand while shopping, as the sales associates will need to scan it in order to provide the discount. They won’t give you the tax break based on your American accent, questionable sense of style, or horrible pronunciation of ‘konnichiwa’.
The vinyl bars
The husband has been a DJ since he was a child, and one of the reasons for the trip was to visit Japanese listening bars, which appeal to audiophiles and vinyl enthusiasts who want to have a nice evening of listening to music and sipping high-end whisky, or your drink of choice. We’ve been to a lot of these bars, and there are famous ones in Tokyo that are owned and operated by musicologists and vinyl purists who have a fascinating level of knowledge about music of all genres. We visited at least four in a three-day period.
They each have their own variety of quirk.
The most memorable was Bar Martha. The husband had told me about this bar days earlier when we were discussing our itinerary. He wanted to go, but he was afraid to take me and his business partner, because he said that we both talk too much. I didn’t understand. Wasn’t the point of a bar to socialize?
Apparently not. At Bar Martha, customers are to listen to the music, buy drinks and shut the fuck up. You are not to have conversation or take photographs (although I had to sneak a few).
Here’s how it went down . . . the three of us walked into the beautiful establishment that has a capacity of ~50 people and was appointed with low lights and a lot of dark, cozy wood. The wall behind the bar featured shelves of Japanese whisky, and the adjacent dj booth was framed by a wall of records, which is emblematic of a traditional vinyl listening bar.
We were stopped at the hostess stand (more like a counter), where there were two people who ignored us in favor of their task of manually chipping blocks of ice. We were approached by the host/server, and told, in a low voice, that they could accommodate us. As we were led to our table, there was a strong suggestion that we hang our coats in the provided space behind us. (It was cold, so I chose to keep mine. Suggestion be damned.) As he left the table, he sternly warned us to speak softly.
On the table were five mason jars of snacks and a silver scoop in a small cup which customers should use to serve themselves. The snacks included chocolate-covered rice krispies, corn nuts, some sort of variety mix, wasabi peas, and what appeared to be dried fruit.
The server brought small plates and called attention to the scoop so that we wouldn’t have any hands-in-jar incidents. As if. I was actually surprised that we weren’t told to chew softly, although if they wanted quiet eating, corn nuts (possibly the crunchiest snack on the planet) wouldn’t have been an option. Seemed counterintuitive to me, but what do I know?
We ordered drinks, largely by pointing at the menu, which was in all Japanese (giving thanks, once again, to Google Translator). The husband likes his whisky straight, with one big rock (I take mine straight, but I’m not particular about the ice cube configuration). When the drinks arrived, I realized that the ice chippers were busy making the large ice cubes BY HAND. As I don’t care for randos getting handsy with my ice, I was happy to choose the regular machine made cubes, thankyouverymuch.
Of course I had a lot of additional questions. Questions that I couldn’t ask without being ushered TF out of there. Who is Martha? Is she the owner’s mother? Are Japanese women ever named Martha? Does she spin vinyl? I remain curious.
I’d done my homework and learned that the owner is typically the musical curator and does a great job of reading the crowd and making the appropriate musical selections. Tonight, however, there was a younger woman on the tables (probably not Martha). I was trying to figure out the music that non-Martha was playing. It was beatless, and definitely not inspiring of head nods or toe taps. It was giving anxiety and if I had to designate a genre for that music, I would call it Early American Suicide. I’m not sure who she was trying to appeal to, but I was ready to take the treat scoop and commit Hara Kiri.
The husband was taking it all in, quietly, and in the meantime, FB, the husband’s business partner was starting to break down. I could feel him wanting to make conversation, crack a joke, all while devastating the snack jars. We were on a countdown to ejection, until a few people seated at the bar began smoking smelly cigars and others were enjoying cigarettes. Although happy for the experience, we decided to call it a night.
The tiny bars
On a night that the husband was overtaken by jetlag, FB suggested that he and I hit the streets and a few bars. Yes, please! I’m rarely tired, and always down for a good exploratory mission. We left the hotel at midnight, which is around the time that nightlife is crackin’ in Tokyo.
He chose an area - the Golden Gai - in the Shinjuku region of Tokyo that has about 200 bars crammed into six alleys. When he was telling me about it on the Uber ride, it seemed implausible that there could be so many establishments in such a small area. When we were, again, thrust into the street by the taxi driver, we knew we were in the right place when we saw an alley with a golden arch. We meandered down a few of the connected alleys, looking for a good place to have a drink.
Some had minimal cover charges; some didn’t. When we peered inside of the ground-floor level bars (there were others on higher floors, because remember . . . vertical commercial space), we noticed that many of them were smaller than my bedroom and seated exactly six patrons.
They were all dive bars, technically, but each had a different theme. Most establishments were at capacity, but we finally landed on one with space and no cover. The proprietor was obsessed with Clapton - playing his songs and concert videos (on VHS, of course). He had a few guitars propped up in the corner, but I hazard a guess that they didn’t belong to Clapton, although I could be wrong. We enjoyed generous pours of Japanese whiskey while watching a live recording of Layla. Good times.
All in all, we had a great time in a very short visit. I can’t wait to return to Tokyo. Maybe next time I’ll get a massage (or not).
The sensory overload in the first picture nearly gave me a panic attack. 😂
How fun. I love the energy/sensory overload you captured in that first photo.
Years ago we got our daughter a monthly Japan Candy Box subscription for her birthday. I’m a sucker for cute packaging and these were adorable. I can’t help but smile at the cutesy kawaii characters.
I have no poker face, so I would be gawking like a crazy tourist at all of the fashion and makeup. I agree—you have to admire the level of commitment and attention to detail.
How was the food? Was smoking allowed in all of the restaurants/bars, or were there a few nonsmoking venues?