Japan Lag

AOG, Madrid

I came back from Tokyo last Sunday, a week ago today. I arrived in Barcelona around 11:30PM and got to bed around 1AM.

The next day I took a fast train from Barcelona to Madrid. Having left the country of silence less than 24 hours before, arriving at, and traveling through, the nation of noise, the shock was remarkable.

It all went mostly in silence on board our train until we stopped at Saragossa. There, two (maybe three) middle aged couples entered my coach.

From the minute they sat their Aragonese butts down, until we arrived at Madrid's Atocha Station, all they did was talk, non-stop, and in a loud voice. 

At one point, one of the ladies decided to call her son and hold a full conversation with him right in the carriage. I could not believe it.

It was interesting to overhear that one of the husbands in tow had not taken a train to Madrid in 35 years. 

That the last time his wife took a train was when they went on their honeymoon.

That they were all going to some Central American country for a well deserved vacation.

And although their lives were interesting, all I wanted was peace and quiet.

This week, it has taken me five days to realize where I was. This may sound more glamorous than what it really is. 

I was at work, and my mind was elsewhere. It wasn't as if I didn't know where I was, it was more like my cognizance of the outside world was still in Japan, and not here, in Madrid, at all.

It is hard to explain.

By Thursday, however, my cognizant self arrived with my physical self. I began to be more aware of my surroundings, my home, work colleagues. I don't know. It was odd. Perhaps jet lag played a part.

New Friends

This Thursday, to celebrate my newly found awareness of my life, I went to Diurno, my usual daily breakfast joint. 

I picked up this month's issue of In Madrid magazine and had a latte. On the classifieds section there was a small ad concerning "Gay friends in Madrid".

I thought, well, why the heck not?

But then I went to work and completely forgot about it.

I was sent home early-ish, and it was too cold to walk. I took a bus, and, after a couple of blocks, remembered the ad. I checked to see if I had the magazine with me. I did. So I texted both numbers on the ad. No reply for about 10 minutes.

I thought I'd left it too late, and began to plan my evening ahead: get some milk, wholemeal cookies, and watch Big Brother (or Gran Hermano, as it is known in Spain).

However, after a while, I got an SMS telling me where they met, and at what time they left. I rushed home, took the quickest shower (wash that work/office smell off!), and left.

On my way there, the other member actually called me to tell me where they were, and informed me that he had just gotten off a plane, and apologised for not having called earlier. 

Yes, he was British.

I arrived and was quickly greeted by one of the organisers who introduced me to the evening's participants.

One blonde American girl, one other American guy, one guy from, I think, Latin America somewhere, and the rest, Spanish guys of various ages and hairstyles.

We stayed at the café in question off of Montera street (or Whore Alley as I call it) until about 11:45PM, then, slowly, most people made their way home.

The evening's host and a Spanish guy invited me to go for one last drink in Chueca. I decided I would go with them.

All in all, an enjoyable and surprising evening, considering I woke up feeling very Tokyo, and went to bed feeling very Madrid.

PLANET JAPAN- DAY 1

AOG, Tokyo

We arrived in Tokyo at around 11.25 AM (9 hours ahead of Madrid), tired, slightly jetlagged, and anxious to see the city.

But first things first. Get through customs. It was one thing to see Japanese people wearing face masks on the plane, but we were not prepared to see the airport staff wearing them too. And the customs officer. And tourists from other parts of Asia who were waiting in line with us.

As we waited, a few customs officers asked us the same question again and again: had we filled out the declaration form? We said yes to all of them every time.

We also noticed that if you belong to the local Asian version of the EU, you are a "priority passport". I wish we had that in the West.

Once through Customs, we went to pick up our luggage, which was tidily waiting for us next to the belt. We then had to go through another control. A very friendly uniformed man (I am not sure if he was Japanese customs, police, or what), asked where we were from. When we said Spain he very politely asked us to open our suitcases.

Funnily enough, he didn't look at what we had packed, but instead he looked for hidden pockets, or false compartments in our luggage, whilst practizing his Spanish, which I thought was odd, but cute. This feeling will accompany me throughout our stay in Japan: odd, but cute.

We left with our luggage intact, and faced the culture shock which is Japan's Narita Airport Arrivals Terminal. Although most businesses have signs in English, the most obvious signs are in Japanese. We had to get from the Airport to our hotel somehow, and the choices, though many, were, at first, and for a long while, hidden to the naked eye.

Amidst an ocean of cell-phone rentals, car rentals, soft drink dispensers, taxi agencies, mass transit signs, etc, we tried as best we could, to make sense of it all.

We chose to take the Airport Limousine, a service which leaves you at your hotel's doorstep. A bus. The next one heading to our hotel left two hours hence, so we took the next limo service to Shinjuku Station. Which left one minute from the time we paid for the tickets to leave the desk and get to the bus. Which we did.

First impressions

We made it to the bus, and walked in. Culture shock does not cover it. The vehicle, though new, looked weirdly 1960s. All the seats had white croched seatbacks. The kind of thing somebody's grandmother would knit for her grandchildren....and in Japan, for their bus.

The inside of the bus was not what I would call comfortable for a Western person. Small, cramped, and hardly any room to place a backpack.

Alas, this mattered little since half my butt was hanging off the seat so as no to further intimidate the poor Japanese lady sitting next to me who was, by any account, minute, dainty and extremely polite.

The first thing which amazed me about our journey into Tokyo was just how green Japan is. Although it was built up all the way into the city, nature is everywhere. And it is very lush, even for November.

My overall impression of the country is that, above all, they don't wish to inconvenience or trouble anybody.

The highway is a perfect example of this. Given the lack of space in this country, many people live near, or facing, the roads. So in Japan, whenever you approach a built-up area, they build walls to isolate the sound, and insulate the population behind it from the sound of traffic.

Sound is a recurring theme in Japan. I'll explain in further posts.

Tokyo

I never expected the entry into Japan's capital to be so impressive. All I could say was...New York, eat your heart out.

The amount of skyscrapers was amazing. Their design, impressive. But then, so was the road we were on. In some places, it appeared that we were five or ten stories up in the air as we twisted and turned into the city's grid.

We could see into people's homes, but we really had no time to do much of that, since, curve after curve, the view only got more amazing than before.

So amazing, in fact, that it took us a while to realize that we were so high up, navigating in between tower blocks, gardens and, believe it or not, feudal Japanese moats (Imperial Palace grounds- no I could not believe they built a Highway next to it either, but there it was).

When we got off the bus at Shinjuku Station we were overawed. But our journey had just begun.

Hotel

We walked to our hotel, only a couple of blocks away, and checked in as we wondered about the pungent smell on the streets. Cabbage and poo. Yes. Those two. It is a recurring smell, so it must be something to do with their plumbing system. However, that is not to say that all of Tokyo smells like that. It does not. But once in a while, on a downwind...

We asked for a room as high up as possible, and we got one on the 14th floor, facing the skyscraper in front of us. No, we did not have a great view straight ahead, but we did have a good view to the side...once we asked the cleaning lady to show us how to open the window.

Our room was rather small. It would have been smaller had my partner not had the sense to investigate online and realize that hotel rooms in Japan are small and book the larger option. Larger means the bed fits a bit better and is not pressed next to the wall.

However, it did not mean the room came with a closet to store our clothes or a chest of drawers, so for the duration of our stay, we had to live out of suitcases and we had to ensure the room was tidy before the cleaning staff arrived. There was, however, a bar and a couple of hangers behind the door and next to the full length mirror which faced the bathroom.

Although this is not the smallest room I've stayed at (that inglorious title goes to the Hotel I stayed in the last time I was in Amsterdam for Madonna's concert in 2006), it was very small indeed.

Somehow we survived, is all I can say.

Harajuku: Cosplay Girls

Once settled in, we were starving, and before heading off for Yoyogi Park to catch the Cosplay girls (and it had to be done on the day since they only gather on Sundays,- or so we were told), we had to eat something. Too in shock to actually try anything Japanese yet, we walked into our corner McDonalds and had a quick lunch. We soon found out that in November, it gets dark around 5PM in Tokyo.

We walked to Shinjuku Station (which is massive) and went to buy a ticket for the train/subway/whatever which would take us to Harajuku Station (which is smaller and, oddly enough, designed to look like an English mock Tudor cricket hut, the kind found in any park in the UK).

Ah, but what are these Cosplay girls you may ask? According to our guidebook, they are people (mostly girls) who don't fit in at school. Social outcasts. Nerds even. They like to dress up like their favorite Manga heros and heroines, and then go to Harajuku and pose for the tourists. Taking their picture was one of the easiest photographs I took in Japan.


"Cosplay" (コスプレ, pronounced "kosupure"), is short for "costume roleplay". See Wikipedia article here.

However, it isn't only young school girls who like to dress up....


How do you say "attention seeking" in Japanese?

Anyyyway....

We walked towards the park and came across buskers, people passing by, families on a day our, and a group of Rockabilies with their children in tow who loved it when we asked to take their picture.

Afterwards, we decided to explore the area a bit further.

We had a coffee in a European-looking coffee shop along Omote-Sando street and found the avenue in question to be very pleasant.

We came across the Zara store, and Muji, before heading back. The former, more expensive than in Spain, the latter, cheaper than in Europe. Tired to the point of extinction, we thought we'd head back for dins-dins and a drink in the town.

What else can one do after a day of jet-setting and international glamour?

Exactly.

Nightlife: Ni-Chōme, day 1

Tokyo's gay neighborhood is in Shinjuku. It is known as Shinjuku Ni-chōme (新宿二丁目), which stands for something like "District/Ward Two" ("Ni" means Two in Japanese).

There are about 300 gay bars in this area, making it the largest concentration of gay bars of any neighborhood in the world. But you wouldn't know it from looking at it. That is because in Japan, not everything is what it seems.

We had dinner in a nice Noodle Bar, accompanied by a Japanese-Canadian guy (though he might have been American) and his Canadian lesbian friend. It wasn't so much that they ate with us, it was more like their conversation invaded our table as it bounced off the noodle bar's vapor-filled walls and percolated through our hot green teas.

She kept droning on and on about her partner, how she was unhappy because she was not "the one", not even after 5 years together, and how she did not know (or wanted to either) how to tell her that they should separate. I couldn't but feel sorry for the absent partner. What an awful partner she had! Imagine being bad-mouthed all over Tokyo! Sorry, but no.

And he mostly provided moral support and never ever questioned her about anything, though he did have time to speak ill of Japanese men now and again.

After dinner, we had enough energy to try one bar out, so we went to Advocate's Café.

The local drunken drag queen "disasterpiece" which we had seen once we arrived in Ni-Chōme had made her merry, chicken-yellow-split-ends-hair-off-the-shoulder-camisole-number-can't-walk-in-heels, way over to the bar.

We ordered a couple of drinks and sat in the only table which faced the street.

It was raining, and a few guys passed by. Some smiled. Most did not care about us.

The umbrella to have this season is definitely the transparent plastic, white handle one everyone seemed to be sporting.

We finished our drinks -not before being pestered by, and ignoring, the aforementioned local sad queen-, and headed back to the hotel -but not before trying to find one of the bars on our list.

In Japan, bars (and most everything else), are not necessarily at street level. Once you work out how the address system works (we did, but only on the 4th day), you realize that you must forever be entering buildings and taking the elevator up to whichever floor the place is situated in.

We did find our bar, Gregorios, but it was shut for the night.

It was cold and we had a full day ahead, so we treated ourselves to a cab ride home.

780 yen later, we were at out doorstep. Fatigued, thrilled, shocked, overwhelmed.

Oh yes, we liked Tokyo. We loved it!

On the way to Japan: First Rome, then Tokyo

AOG, Tokyo

My partner found this really good deal to Tokyo with Alitalia a few days ago and, almost on a whim, bought (after some consultation with yours truly and his own brother and some friends) two plane tickets to Japan.

Alitalia is an Italian airline which neither one of us had flown before, and, as a company, it gets really bad publicity in the European press.

A friend of ours told us about the experience a friend of his had with it last August.

Apparently they lost his luggage on the trip to Rome from Caracas, and, for the duration of his stay, he was without any of his things. He did get them back in the end. Once he returned to Venezuela!

It seems they are also on strike these days.

With this in mind, we left my partner's apartment early in the morning for our 11:45 flight to Rome. It is quite funny that a few months ago we discussed where to go in the Summer and we mentioned Rome a few times, before settling on Brasil (see previous posts).

So in the end, we went to both places...almost.

Rome's airport is on the coast, and nowhere near 'la città eterna'.

Funny how some things turn out...right?

The flight itself was not too bad. Although the interior color scheme is identical to that of a plasticky Christmas tree (same odd green hue), the seats were large enough for both of us, and comfortable enough.

The staff were a combination of politeness, aloofness, attitude, and airline industry courtesy. I don't think they can really be faulted for much. We got a small free snack on the way over. And some red orange juice which we both found very strange.

Be that as it may, however, that is more than what I can say for Iberia!

Once in Rome's airport, it was a slightly mad rush to the gate. We kept thinking how British the thing looked. Spartan meets budget cuts and aims for design. If nothing else, it is functional.

And just as expensive to shop in as Britain's (and Spain's) airports.

When we arrived at the gate, it was swarming with (mostly) Japanese tourists. How odd, I thought, that they should fly Alitalia to Europe -we had seen some of them in our flight from Barcelona. A few minutes later, I saw that many of the women were carrying Gucci bags, Prada backpacks, Missoni sweaters....and then it all became clear!

Once on the plane, we discovered the anomaly that our flight from Barcelona had been. The seats were not very comfortable, nor were they spacious. Furthermore, the flight was packed. And I mean packed!

I think there was only one spare seat next to one of the window exits. Next to me there sat a middle aged Japanese couple. Next to my partner, there was a couple around my age. We were both lucky enough that the wife (small Japanese lady in both cases) sat next to each of us. In Spain this normally does not happen.

The husband always sits next to me to ensure I don't disturb or take away his wife (if only they knew!). It appears that in Japan they have other things to think about....or maybe they want me to take and disturb their wife! Who knows.

The first odd thing we noticed about the Japanese (and this has turned out to be first of hundreds...and counting) was the large amount of passengers wearing masks over their faces. Throughout the whole 12 our flight, they never took off the mask. We found it a bit odd. Especially when, at the back of the plane, a small self-service minibar was set up by the crew.

They would come over, pour themselves a drink, and lower their mask for a few seconds to take a sip. Then they returned to their sit and all, I think, slept with their mask on.

After being served dinner at around 5PM our time, we were not to be served anything else until about 1 hour and 45 minutes before landing at Narita Airport, one hour outside Tokyo. To say that I almost starved to death is cutting it short. Oh my God were we ever hungry! There were not enough saltines and crackers to keep us going on that plane!

I slept most of the journey but once I got up from my slumber, I stayed up until we landed. And, unfortunately, everyone's personal TV screen and entertainment center -located on the seatback in front of you- worked, but mine.

I told the crew about it, but they are not engineers. What can they do, other than reset it as many times as you ask them to? Nothing. And no, there was no chance of an upgrade unfortunately.

Finally, after a 14 hour journey from Barcelona (and 3 hours sleep before leaving), we landed in Tokyo.

And Oh! Mah! Gad! the things we were about to see!

On the way to Japan: Leaving Barcelona

AOG, Tokyo

So on Friday I had to play out the previous day's events, in fast forward.

Fast Forward to the bus stop (I can't believe the bus driver saw me tying a shoelace and didn't stop! He, in fact, drove past in a rush just as I lifted my head once I heard the oncoming vehicle).

Fast Forward to the train station, the airport, the security check, the train to the gate, the gate, and finally board the plane.

A small aside, on the way to the airport, I bought a coffee from the train trolley guy. He didn't have change for 20, so the guy in front of me invited me to a cup of coffee.

He was very handsome, very Eastern European (thick chains, strange mobile with music in hand, tough hands, dirty fingernails, tussled hair), and soon to be slightly drunk. It was not even 10:30 AM and monsieur was drinking red wine on the train as he texted (his girlfriend? his best friend? his mother in Serbia/Poland/Slovakia?) on and off.

Finally I got to Stanstead with a bit more time than yesterday. This time, however, I was overcautious given the events of the day before, and panicked when the screen said which gate to head towards, and, at the same time, to wait. I wasn't sure whether I should go, stay, roll over, or what!

I was on the last boarding group, but it turned out alright in the end. I sat near the wing's engine, and had three seats all to myself. What's more, having been given a set of sound-canceling headphones for my birthday, flying on low cost airlines is more tolerable these days since I can cancel out all incoming sales pitches, loudspeaker offers, etc etc. It was like I flew to Barcelona all on my own. Tried to sleep but failed. I was too wound up.

Once I got to Barcelona (and I survived the Aerobus into town strike), my mission for the day was to find a pair of shoes for the trip.

My partner and I went to a couple of shoe stores before he went home to finish work, and I stayed behind to roam the streets of Barcelona looking for a suitable pair of walking shoes to take to the Far East.

Finally I found them and had enough time left over to buy a gift for my brother-in-law's birthday, 2 weeks ago.

My partner, a friend of ours, and I had been invited to dinner by him and his wife and we arrived almost in time to their place. And what a place it is! Gigantic, well appointed, great location. It has it all. I told my partner we should move upstairs from them!

We stayed until about 2AM, when logic and responsibility kicked, and left for home to finish packing. Yes, only the gay go to a dinner party the night before going on a trip to the other side of the planet when they should be at home packing and sorting out any last-minute problems.

So we took it in turns to pack and nap. First I packed, tweaked iTunes, plugged the iPod, had some milk and cookies, then woke my partner up and went to sleep around 4AM.

Three hours later, we were on our way to the airport.

On the way to Japan: First, get out of London!

AOG, Tokyo

Any journey has its ups and downs. I suppose it is better if all goes as planned, but, as they say, getting there is half the fun.

My first trip to Tokyo started in Madrid one week ago. I had a few days off from work and I had the opportunity to spend a few days in London.

I met up with my family and some friends. From Monday to Thursday I ran errands, visited shops, finished reading "Dirty Havana Trilogy" by Pedro Juan Gutierrez, watched some TV, bought the odd trinket here and there, and, finally, packed my bags and headed to the airport on thursday.

Lets do the time warp again!

In my life, I remember when I was a kid, there were occasions when time slowed down. It is hard to explain. Basically, it would happen sometimes that we would be going somewhere, like a long car journey, and time would either stretch into infinity, or almost disappear. Odd but true.

I remember many a trip when a 5 hour car journey would last 45 minutes. Similarly, a one hour journey would take forever to end. These were the hardest since you became frustrated at how long things took, and your conscience told you that, in fact, this journey is much shorter than what you are actually taking to do it.

And the funny thing is that it happened not only to me, but to my family too. We were always surprised by this time warp of ours. I hadn't happened for a long time.

Until last Thursday.

Leaving London

I woke up around 8 am and left my London flat at around 9AM. I walked up to the bus station only to see the bus drive past me as I turned the first corner and made my way to the bus stop. I waited a few minutes and then another one came.

I then took the underground to Covent Garden and went to buy a Japan visual guide at Stanfords, the best travel store I know of.

After than, I went back home (do not stop around since you are running out of time).

First though, I had to get some euros. My partner had payed for our upcoming trip to Japan and I had to reimburse him. So off I went to my local HSBC branch. I was surprised by what happened next.

1- The person in charge of foreign currency is out to lunch. (And then the thought stroke me: should bank staff take a lunch break when the rest of the city is also taking a lunch break, thus ensuring that those of us who can make it to the bank at lunch create a daily lunch rush hour for which the bank is not equipped?)

2- Could I come back later (like in 45 minutes?)? No I could not. So then the deputy branch manager tried to help me.

Tried but failed since, a) she didn't have a password for the foreign till and, b) she could have a password emailed but that would take 30 minutes.

I really didn't have the time to spare, the energy to get upset further, nor the will to upset the bank staff any further.

3- It is suggested that I go to the Post Office (it's just down the street!) and get the money there.

I go there, only to be asked for some sort of ID. I didn't have any ID with me (as you know, in the UK nobody carries ID with them), so they could not get the money out of my bank card.

4- Could I get the money in cash from the bank (it's just down the street!).

So I traipse back to the bank only to find an even longer line than before.

A while later starts the same "No ID?" ceremony which had taken place at the Post Office.

After a few security questions the bank decides to hand me over the amount of money requested (you'd think it was a gift and not your own money!), and I rush back to the Post Office.

After a few minutes I am on my way home to eat and finish packing.

As I pack I make some lunch. I eat, shower, lock my travel bag, and exit in a rush.

At that point I was running a bit late.

I walk towards the bus stop. A bus drives by just before I get there. I begin to ponder on the wisdom of taking a cab to the train station. At the stop, I wait for about 30 minutes for the next bus (in theory, one should go by every 10-15 minutes).

The funny thing about the bus stop is that it is too far from the High Street to rush to it should a bus drive by, so that if I leave it, I have to be committed to taking a cab since there is no turning back! It was a tough call and I made a mistake. I should have taken a cab.

However at this point, I did not know this. I get to the train station and take the first train to Stansted. I have waited less than 2 minutes at this point.

The train is packed. I get on board and find a seat. The trolley guy comes by and I buy a coffee. I don't know why I did this since I was already quite wired and stressed since, at that point, I was -officially- running late. Very late.

The train, as British trains often do, stops for no apparent reason in the middle of nowhere for a few minutes. I recall that this happened twice or so. I get to Stansted 4 minutes before the gate closes.

I try to rush through security, but I can't. Too many people and none of them care that I'm about to miss my flight. Well, perhaps they did care, but I'm sure that they were mostly thinking (and with good reason) that I should have gotten there earlier. And they were right.

I finally make it through and miss the first train that gets you to the next terminal. When I get to it, I rush out, fly up the escalator, and sprint to the gate, only to find a surprised easyjet woman who, as soon as she sees me, pushes a chair forward to stop me from flying down the stairs and run to the plane.

I was completely out of breath, sweating, panting, trembling and upset with myself. I had no energy to argue. It was not meant to be.

The lady says I should go back with her to the terminal to book another ticket. For tomorrow!!! This was the worst possible outcome, alas, what could I do?

I called my partner who told me there were no other flights to Barcelona that I could catch that day from that airport. From other airports maybe, but I would have to get a bank loan to pay for the ticket. Why is traveling on the day so expensive?

One more day in "Paradise"

After talking to my partner (who was very supportive throughout the whole ordeal) I am escorted back by a different member of staff who was slightly inconvenienced by my situation (why do plane staff always think we miss planes on purpose?) and the fact she had to escort me back through the terminal's secret "staff only" passageways.

After buying a ticket for the next day, I decide to cut my losses and get back to London on a bus. It is cheaper than the train, though less convenient. But since I had no one waiting for me, it seemed like the right thing to do. Wrong again!!

Along the way I call my friend Miguel and we decide to meet once more in Soho. So now I have to rush home from Liverpool Street station and rush back out to the West End.

And I am on a bus, surrounded by Spanish tourists who think everything they see is cool. London holds a special fascination amongst Europeans. The Spanish are no different.

By the time Miguel and I meet up, I am exhausted, both physically and mentally. We talked about the day's events and I explained about the time-warp day I'd had. All along, I told him, it felt like time was slowing down and speeding up at the same time. I know this makes no sense. He thought it was hilarious. I may do...in the future!

By the time I get home, I am half dead. I have a glass of warm milk and some oatmeal biscuits and dive into bed. I have a flight to catch in the morning.

Somebody help me!!