A Connection is Made.

A Grand Time.

Tokyo, Japan —Touching down at Haneda Airport, I rub my hands anxiously at the prospect of having only two hours between connecting flights.
 
The hands of time spin, too.

Kelin had graciously offered to guide me by train to terminal three for the long journey home, but we have our wires crossed and he's nowhere to be found. With the recent state of the world's airports – long lines, constant delays, mounting frustrations, backlogs and cancelled flights – I choose instead to say a quick goodbye to the team and hustle off to catch the bus on my own.

Slower, sure, but easier to navigate at this point, particularly after last night’s wrap-up celebrations at Nagi – featuring more than a dozen Okinawan dishes, including SPAM sushi, and bottomless drinks – followed by somehow making it to the 3 a.m. last call at the Grand Line.
 
I needn’t have worried: the efficiency of Japan’s airports is something to behold.
 
Nineteen minutes later, I’ve arrived at the terminal, scanned my passport, cleared security, waved a couple papers at indifferent officials who barely looked up from their conversation and arrived at my gate.
 
Fifteen minutes of that time was the bus ride.

Interlude.

history sighs – along the beach, okinawa, japan

Heavy guns grunt
a still-living oral history
over the waves
and over the graves.

Power is unforgotten
amidst mountains
with shoulders stooped
in a culture
that does not forgive
failure.

Today, the guns still thunder
like a belch at the dinner table.

2022.10.21

it is written – okinawa, japan

History is written in the waves:
muffled letters scattered
in the ripples.

The hands have continued
to turn,
scooping up less
with each year.

But history is written
in the waves.

2022.10.20

No Words.

Breath, exhaled with each ripple.

Fuji, in a Gasp of Breath.

Orderly, in quieter times.

Tokyo, Japan — The train’s windows serve as frames of film on fast forward as we take in our final showing of Tokyo.

Jerking around a corner, we look up.

In a blink, Mount Fuji rises majestically between buildings. And then, is gone.

It’s rush hour and we’re crammed into the busiest cars we’ve seen all week. It doesn’t help that we’re on our way to Haneda Airport and have our bags with us. 

Up next: Okinawa.

I’m wedged between men in dark suits and a pole, attempting to be Pélé while corralling the suit bag at my feet. This morning, it’s far easier to imagine how seven million passengers trace these rails every day.

The city is so big it must be the only way.

Tomorrow, there will be snow.

The train lines are a marvel once you become more comfortable with them. But they’re not without their quirks and problems. It’s not uncommon, for example, to see women-only cars during rush hour given a history of wandering hands.

My favourite, though, is if a train is even the slightest bit late, station staff bow to passengers in apology and hand out train delay certificates to take to your boss or teacher. 

Punctuality is serious business. Even a train that left 20 seconds early received an official apology.

Now, for a change of pace: Okinawa only has 1.5 million residents.

Wide-Eyed.

More red light than we're comfortable with.

Tokyo, Japan – Anime eyes with pastel outlines stare down from outsized billboards.

Rings, dings and heavy drumbeats rise from basement arcades housing cartoonish stuffed animals in glass cases. Electronic claws dangle ominously overhead.

We’ve come expecting ornate swirls of neon set against the darkness, but the streets of Akihabara Electric Town are desolate. 

Loose papers cartwheel like modern-day tumbleweeds.

Sidewalks of the shopping district known for anime, manga, video games and electronics are instead lined by young women in short skirts and sailor outfits. Apparently, the area is also known for its maid cafés and hostess clubs.

While most of it is apparently innocent cosplay, it doesn’t take us long to see the Lolita fashion as an irreconcilable difference in culture.

For our group of middle-aged men, it’s Game Over.

Unfollowed.

Tokyo, Japan — We were treated to a generous, yet extremely rushed visit to the Miraikan National Museum of Emerging Science and Innovation this morning.

I was particularly struck by the Mission Survival: 10 billion exhibit, which includes a massive shake table that launches marbles of various sizes into the city to demonstrate the vast impact of various threats to our survival. Even with the doom and gloom, it's science communication at its finest.

This, however, will forever haunt my dreams.

I'm Not Lion.

History lesson in a time capsule. With beer.

Tokyo, Japan — An elderly Japanese man staggers to the table, poking around our bench. He has obviously poured himself into his stein.

And now, his wallet is nowhere to be found.

The din of Ginza Lion Beer Hall is both aural and visual: green-tiled columns rise like fists set against red brick walls, framing a large glass tile mural of women harvesting barley. Stoic fountains stand sentry on the bar beneath bright fall leaves that have been windswept by laughter.

Frosted glass bulbs fall from the ceiling like bubbles.

Wooden chairs crunch against the floor as new groups of revellers order plates of pretzels and thin sausages to sop up the hefty glasses of straw- and peat-coloured lagers. A nearby table of men is far more animated than anyone I’ve seen in the city so far.

Revving up for a night in Ginza.

German beer hall kitsch to attract foreigners, maybe?

It turns out Ginza Lion Beer Hall is, in fact, the real deal. One of the few buildings to survive the bombings of WWII, it’s the country's oldest beer hall and has been slinging beer in trendy, upscale Ginza since 1934. It has also recently been designated as a Registered Tangible Cultural Property of Japan.

It's staggering how little it has changed since it first opened.

Having spent two-and-a-half hours commuting to and from the National Astronomical Observatory of Japan today, I hadn’t planned to go back out tonight. But good company, history and beer made the decision a wise one. So much for my edict to only eat Japanese food while I’m here.

Then again, this is obviously enough of an institution that it’s close enough.

In a Jam.

Tokyo, Japan — With a satisfying ‘snap,’ success.

Japan is renowned for simple and functional design. I’m loving these small marmalade packages, which allow you to trace a perfect bead over sweet croissants once you fold them in half.

Particularly useful given the lack of knives.

King Tsutaramen.

Suica card charge, charge, recharge.

Tokyo, Japan – The coloured lines of the subway system fall before me like pick-up sticks.

 

It’s a dizzying blur of people, pastry shops and options.

 

Each of the seven major private railway companies in Tokyo is assigned a colour and a two-letter code. When the lines continue seamlessly like a rainbow, the code can be relatively easy to decipher.  

When they don’t, you might find yourself walking several blocks to a competitor’s station of the same name. Or, in my case, to the wrong competitor’s station of the same name in the completely opposite direction. 

There are so many destinations wrapped up in these bright ribbons that flow through the city like the neon signs hanging over the streets above. In Shinagawa Station, I, for the longest time, find only platforms (there are 20), and neither of the two exits. 

Sometimes it’s easy to understand why I walk. 

For Pete's sake.

And walk I did: first to Meiji Shrine and nearly up to Shinjuku City for ramen at Tsuta Ramen, the first Michelin-starred ramen restaurant (first earned in 2015 but lost in 2020). At approximately $15, I figure it's worth the walk for my first ramen and first Michelin-starred restaurant. 

I arrive to a white steel shutter, fallen to the ground like a long metal gown. The internet says it’s open, but the gate giving me the cold shoulder says otherwise. 

I can’t read the sign taped to it, but imagine it says they've sold out for the day.

Back to Harajuku station to pick up more colours for my ride home.

Towering.

Sky, tree.

Tokyo, Japan – The sun finally breaks through the knotty black pines as we make our way past Tokyo Tower and through the grounds of the Imperial Palace. 

Following an overcast morning, I figure this might be my best chance to see Mount Fuji, so I turn my map to Tokyo Skytree, the world’s tallest tower, at 634 metres. 

It’s a 40-minute train ride away, which should really give me an idea of how large this city is. To this point, I’ve been more surprised by how incredibly clean and quiet everything is than by the size or the pace.

It’s disorienting: I still haven’t heard a single siren, street racer or car horn – not even anyone yelling. It’s hard to imagine more than 14 million people live here. Or, incredibly, that a population nearly equal to Canada's 38 million can be found in the Tokyo Metro area.

Lego, scattered across the floor.

That is, until you climb Tokyo Skytree. 

The illusion evaporates into miles of city stretching into the clouds in all directions. It's as though endless Lego bricks are stacked onto each other, scarred by a gauzy web of roads, neon and the Arakawa River. 

But Fuji-San is bashful today, cloaked in a mist of mystique, fog and distance.

Dusk begins its slow descent and the city transforms again. I’m lost in the mess of train lines and stations and opt to abandon the final rails home out of frustration, choosing instead to walk the final hour home.

But I’ve certainly not cheated myself on my first day: 22 kilometres by foot and twice that by train. 

Take that, jetlag.

Sashimi and You.

How it started.

Tokyo, Japan – A hand-painted menu is placed on our table like a piece of art we cannot understand.

A carafe of green tea follows.

While the flourish of black kanji holds the solution to our hunger, Google Translate can only give us “sea bream.” 

We shrug and point, our server similarly unsure of what we’re trying to order. But he’s eager to please. 

Having wrapped up my morning visiting Harajuku and seeing the cosplay and fashion kids lined up outside pastel-coloured crepe shops, I’ve come downtown to meet colleagues from London for the first time. 

How it's going.

Naturally, I’ve travelled around the world to have lunch with people who work across the street. 

Being open to eating anything is helpful, but we audibly sigh as elegant bowls of miso soup and of rice, topped with fresh sashimi, arrive at our table. Delicate threads of nori are perched on top like tail feathers.

It is, unsurprisingly, delicious – in a way you don’t need language to describe.

Scrambled Legs.

Why did 3,000 people cross the road?

Tokyo, Japan – The city’s sidewalks unfurl before me like the rolls of paper I hope to fill with my memories. 

Here, they’re endless and orderly, even if my thoughts aren’t after 28 hours of travel.

Having arrived last night, curiosity and limited time to explore the city now carry me into the residential and business areas that have traditionally allowed me to disappear and to stand out alike. 

At my height, staying hidden may be more of a challenge in Japan. 

As people pass, they say sweet-sounding things into air that smells suspiciously of gummi bears. I’m not able to place the source, but Katsura trees are known to emit a scent of cotton candy or burnt sugar in the fall. 

Gotta catch 'em all.

I nod and smile behind my mask, unknowing. Japan only opened its borders two days ago and masks are still worn everywhere.

From Ōimachi, I wind through Shinagawa City and up to the famous Shibuya Crossing, which, as the world’s busiest intersection, peaks at 3,000 people streaming across it each minute. It’s Saturday morning and less busy today as I fall into step, criss-crossing the scramble several times just for the fun of it.

As the walk signal fades, the streets clear, a couple final stragglers sprinting like black birds separated from the flock.

Orderly, but with outliers.