Tokyo

Most westerners who visit Tokyo feel a bit like they've stepped into a parallel universe. Unlike traveling in the developing parts of Asia where the differences are charming and quaint, Japan feels like an advanced alien society that developed along a completely different path. When you combine that with the cultural differences you'll find in most of Asia, going straight from Los Angeles to Tokyo is almost a psychedelic experience. Yet, I've been traveling so long that I've gotten used to adjusting to a completely different language and culture on a weekly basis, so I acclimated to Japan more quickly than most.

My first adventure was getting from Narita Airport to my hostel near Shibuya and Shinjuku. Tokyo's transit system is widely regarded as the most efficient in the world. I see plenty of evidence that supports that. The multiple independently-run rail systems in Tokyo, including Japan Rail and the Tokyo Metro, all use the same payment system. I bought a PASMO card that works on every train and bus in the country. Unlike New York City, where local MTA lines only connect with other train systems at Grand Central Station, there are minor metro train stations all over the city that connect with major commuter lines.

While it's an undeniably efficient system, it's considerably more complex. I was frequently lost and confused. Before I learned the names of the different lines, I had a very hard time interpreting the signs. Subway signs need to communicate the name of the line, the name of the train, and the direction the train is headed. In New York City, you might take an (orange) F train toward Jamaica Station. The F train only runs on the orange line, but it stops at different stations than an M train which also runs on the orange line. Jamaica Station is the F train's final destination.

Since multiple systems converge all over the place in Tokyo, its metro also requires that you name the system. The line symbols don't appear to bear any relation to the line names. The Odeo line, for instance, is a magenta E. Since the Odeo line is a loop, it's not possible to describe the orientation based on one end point, so the signs indicate a few of the significant stations that you can access if you take a given direction. I was never really sure what part of a subway sign indicated the line, system, or direction. I wasn't sure whether I was following signs for the Shinjuku line or Shinjuku station. Signs directing foot traffic to the Yamanote line were interchangeable labeled JR, JY, or Yamanote.

I had a great time walking the through the streets of Tokyo. It was cold and rainy, but it was exciting just being in Japan.

Japan is a place that excites you with technology that's simple enough that it could be used all over the world, but for some reason it only exists in Japan. I was thrilled to find vending machines that have hot and cold selections. Cheap and quick access to a warm beverage on a cold rainy day was nice. I also enjoyed drinking corn soup from a can.

Some of the interesting technology included the way that many restaurants expect you to order food. Most of us are familiar with the self service screens that are becoming popular in fast food establishments, but those all require a lot of touch screen technology that's only recently available. In Japan, you frequently place your order by pushing buttons on a machine that prints a ticket for the kitchen staff. It's not exactly bleeding edge hardware, but that's part of the appeal. You can't help but realize that they've had this technology for decades. Even their crusty old tech is impressive. It's like Blade Runner.

It's also interesting to think about how a country that's so famous for it's love of design creates advertising like this:

It looks cool to foreigners because the Japanese text is exotic and beautiful, but I wonder whether its beauty is eroded by literacy and comprehension. I'm certain that would look like crap in English: "30% OFF WATCHES!"I've only ever seen that much text in closeout department stores sales in dying shopping malls. Is it possible that Japanese readers perceive the same beauty we do from their own written language?

I wish I had taken pictures of yen because it's the most elegant bank note I've ever seen. The coins are great, too. Since the largest denomination (500 yen) is worth more than three dollars at the current exchange rate, you frequently use coins for real purchases. I've whined before about how US coins are worthless because there's nothing you can buy with our largest denomination coin. I had fun using coins in Japan. I've heard other foreigners express disappointment about how so many Japanese businesses don't take credit cards, but I think it's great that they've made cash and coins enjoyable to use. I wonder if Americans only transitioned to cards so quickly because our money is tedious to use.

I value American diversity and believe that our country will have a special responsibility in teaching all nations to cooperate, yet it's amazing to see what a more homogeneous culture can accomplish. American Disney parks never have any trash on the ground, and they attribute that to the trash cans everywhere and their employees' habit of immediately stopping to pick up trash. It's nearly impossible to find a trash can in Tokyo and there's no one being paid to clean up, yet the streets are immaculate. The train etiquette is wonderful. People speak in hushed voices if at all and everyone wears headphones. The walkway signs that indicate the direction traffic should flow are universally obeyed.

I don't tend to fear for my safety very often, but I'm always aware of people and situations that could potentially pose a threat to my safety. I frequently vibe check my surroundings. If someone's looking at me funny, I'll give them a confident nod and observe their response. I felt strange in Tokyo because I almost never encountered a situation where I observed even a possible threat. I attribute Tokyo's safety to the constant presence of both police and Yakuza.

There are police boxes all over the place in Tokyo. You're never very far away from a cop, and I suspect they feel strength in those numbers. American cops are all alone in a wild frontier. They don't know whether a routine traffic stop is going to turn into a cartel shootout, so they're armed to the teeth and prepared for anything. I'm sympathetic to both American police and the people who live in the American neighborhoods where they're too likely to be wrongfully shot by police. Tokyo police have the luxury of only dealing with petty crimes.

Yakuza handles disputes between criminals, so conflict doesn't erupt into violence on the street. In a way, having a single highly organized crime cartel is better for the public. Perhaps there's a path to regulating the business of vice and simply legalizing every damn thing, but that seems unlikely in any society that wants to police morality. It's interesting to witness the way that Japan has allowed a criminal organization to brutally enforce the rules surrounding crime while letting the normal government keep its hands clean.

The Japanese standard for excellence is apparent wherever you go and whatever you do. I bought a little box of Meiji chocolate and had to marvel at how beautiful the box was. These are convenience store quality chocolates, not something you buy for Valentine's Day, yet they put real effort into making the packaging beautiful. Despite being made from the same affordable thin cardboard as any similar chocolate bar, this box was fun to operate—it folded open and shut in an elegant way.

When I first checked in to my hostel, the check-in guy explained the cubby system for depositing your outside shoes and taking a pair of house slippers. The slippers in my cubby didn't fit me, so he grabbed one from another cubby. Later that night someone took my slippers from the area near my bed. I replaced them, but the next day, when I came back from exploring, someone had taken the slippers from my cubby. I told the hostel staff that I didn't think anyone would do that if they hadn't been encouraging people to borrow from other cubbies when they checked in. I told them their policy had created a free-for-all; it would make more sense to only store claimed shoes in cubbies while storing available shoes in a common bin. Usually I regret voicing complaints like that because the people forced to listen don't care and aren't personally empowered to resolve the issue. However, the very next day, the staff had done exactly what I proposed. Japanese culture is on another level. They just can't live with the idea that they're doing anything poorly. It's refreshing to watch people consistently give a shit and continuously improve their work.

The most accesible way to witness the Japanese standard of excellence is eating out. Everything is incredible. You don't even have to order Japanese food to get top quality—they put the same attention into a cheeseburger. Also, since the exchange rate is so favorable to Americans right now, the food is surprisingly affordable. This niboshi at Nagi Ramen in Shinjuku was the best I've ever had by no small margin.

I didn't know what I wanted to see in Tokyo, but I figured I could just walk around and find stuff that was interesting. That turned out to be very true. Here are some of the scenes I flew by in my peregrinations:

Districts of tiny little bars

Temples, gardens, and a cemetery

Don Quixote, a quirky discount department store with a seemingly random pattern of merchandising. A single aisle had confectionaries, sex toys, and phone chargers.

And too many oddities to photograph

Until visiting Tokyo, I could never have fully appreciated how well the movie Lost in Translation caught the vibe. The locals would really prefer that you learn Japanese and have a full understanding of the etiquette whether you're moving to Japan for a job or whether you're visiting for a week. There's not much tolerance for stupid foreigners. But beyond the disconnection that movie's protagonist felt from everything being so alien, there's a profound feeling of loneliness that runs through the culture of Tokyo.

Host and hostess bars are popular in Kabukicho. In host bars, women pay for the company of charming and fashionable young men who lavish them with attention. The hosts work in open competition to sell the most alcohol and the clubs make a big deal of celebrating the top hosts on a scoreboard. Hosts pressure their female clients to spend as much money as possible on expensive bottle services that will elevate their status in the club, often with suggestions that they could have a real relationship outside of the club if only they earn the title of top host. There's a recent phenomenon of women going into such profound debt spending money in the host clubs that their hosts begin to pimp them out on the street. These aren't young girls, either—they're usually salarywomen (a Japanese term) in their thirties who you'd expect to have some defenses against this kind of emotional manipulation.

The male equivalent is a hostess club. I was curious enough about this dynamic to want to check it out, but it's not available to foreigners. The hostesses don't usually speak English, and they don't want to talk to foreigners, anyway. Despite sex work being very common in Japan, even the softer forms like hostess bars don't allow foreigners because the women find the prospect of foreign customers demeaning. Instead, I tried something even more bizarre: a maid bar.

The travel guides all insist that maid bars aren't a sexual thing. The staff dress up in maid costumes and call you "master." What could be sexual about that, right? I can safely report that I agree with the travel guides.

The majority of restaurants I dined at in Japan were counter service spots where most people came in alone. There are also second and third floor restaurants where friends and coworkers gather and sit at tables, but even those tend to have ordering systems that require very little wait staff attention. Pick what you want from a tablet and a runner will bring the food out. American restaurants have excessively chatty waiters by Asian standards. "Hi, my name's Mandy. Where y'all from?" There's just nothing like this in most of Asia.

Maid bars are an attempt at something wholesome. The whole premise is that they pay attention to you, but despite the weird affectation of calling you "master," they're less attentive than a regular American diner. The one I went to was staffed with five homely but enthusiastic young women serving three customers. The two other men in the restaurant were completely unable to make eye contact with their servers but responded to the attention with embarrassed enjoyment, like someone whose coworkers just popped into the conference room with a cake and started singing "Happy Birthday."

Everything inside is excessively cute. If you had been imagining a sexy French maid, you've got it all wrong. Their costumes are bubblegum pink and baby blue, just like everything else in the room. I ordered the least cutesy, most substantial item on the menu and my meal looked like this:

I don't want to labor on it, but the people in Tokyo really don't seem okay. There's a crushing sense of loneliness everywhere you go. There's nothing lonely about a Norwegian living alone in the woods for years—that's just what they're into—yet Japan is a nation of extroverts. It's depressing to see the amount of businesses that exist to provide people with some sense of human connection. I suspect that to survive in Tokyo, you need a rich inner world. Maybe it's the loneliness that inspires such brilliant creativity.

Next stop: California. I'm in town for my oldest friend's wedding, then I'll be exploring the Mohave Desert.