There’s an unexpected moment when you register that your dream has just come true. What that moment looks like depends on the dream and the dreamer — could be watching your girl come down the aisle to you, or maybe you’re the girl. Could be seeing your name in lights or a byline, or that shift out of the blinding spotlight when you can suddenly see the audience, and you realize they’re watching, waiting for you to use that microphone in your hand.
My moment was on a 6PM commuter train with 13 salarymen and a woman with a Pomeranian in a Gucci bag.
I’m staring into the reflective window next to me so I can watch without — ya know — looking like I’m watching. I pin my suitcase between my knees, coz if it tips over in this rocking, wearily silent carriage, I will never stop apologizing.
Sumimasen is already the lion’s share of my Japanese word usage pie-chart on this trip.
There are rice paddies out one side of the train, and out the other, there are yet more rice paddies. It’s magical and otherworldly.
I feel like an astronaut.
Like, they said people could walk on the moon, and I guess I believed them, but I didn’t think they meant me. I don’t belong, I don’t have the right lungs for this air. Every step is brand new territory, every sight is a marvel, and I’m a walking scientific anomaly for being here.
I feel so edgy.
Also jetlagged as freak. I make eye-contact with myself in the window because it’s getting dark and the panic over my impending exit from the safety of the train is building. But it’s okay, I expected that.
Yesterday I was 19 and today, I’m in Tokyo.
I’m an astronaut. Let’s do this.
These days, Haneda Airport is the rising star of international flight paths, thanks to reno work for the 2020 Summer Olympics, which became the 2021 Festival of Sadness. But it’s 2013 right now, and rural Narita Airport still sees the most flights from the US, so the long commute into the city puts me on the subway well after dark. By the time I’ve reached the end of the Ginza line, everyone is home/pub-bound and Asakusa is soaked, glittering, and still.
The directions from the station to my hostel, which I ran off on my dad’s printer at home 40 lifetimes ago in North Carolina, seemed foolproof with cartoon arrows slapped over the full-color photos of sites along the way.
But it’s dark now.
I’m standing at the top of the subway station stairs on 1 hour of economy catnapping and zero sense of direction, and I have the suspicion that I’m about to commit the cardinal sin of young, single female travelers:
Walking alone in the city at night.
Oh well, the alternative is sleeping in this stairwell. Tokyo is pretty clean so far, but this stairwell is rebelling. Plus I’m covered in the kind of sweat that makes your eyes itch. The promise of a narrow plastic shower stall calls to me.
I charge off into the downtown with my fuchsia suitcase puttering after, coz I’m stern stuff.
Flash forward: I’ve been lost for an hour and a half.
The internet told me that if I asked someone for directions, I would not only be courteously directed, but kindly accompanied to my destination. But I ain’t having it; if one of these nice folks walk me to my hostel, I have failed my first Japan road-test and they’ll make me turn in my Hello Kitty purse bauble.
Oh furikake, I’m so tired, and the lovely Obasan who directed me to the next block down has seen me circle past 3 times already, she’s waving me down — screw it, time to embrace failure.
Sure enough, she leads the way and, like a mimbley pair of ducklings, me and my suitcase putter after. She deposits me at the entrance of Hostel S and I execute my first-ever 90 degree bow (3 times, like I’m curtseying to the queen, possibly after committing treason).
Obasan beams at me. She waves a dismissive hand and tells me to take care. Nailed it.
I love you, Obasan.
The staff at Hostel S are polite and welcoming in that way which insinuates that your sudden demise would cost them little to no sleep. That’s fair, it’s 10PM on a Tuesday and feels like 4:20AM on Sunday; I wish I was dead, too.
I haven’t had water since the plane, and I spot one of the fabled Japanese vending machines in the hostel kitchen. I recognize nothing in it, so I purchase this orange beverage, coz he looked friendly.
I drink my 50% juice-liquid while texting my family chat proof of life on the hostel Wi-Fi. I might have sent them this photo of Natchan, since he’s my second closest friend in Japan after Obasan.
I have no further memories of the night. It’s morning.
The sun gets up at 4AM in Japan this time of year. New discoveries.
I’m in a creaky aluminum bunk bed of the kind made for prisoners and foreign budget-travelers. But I detailed so many cars so I could have this surly bed for the next 10 nights, so I love it.
I peak out the window to confirm I’m still on the moon, then run off to get ready for my first day out. I dressed sort of like a toddler back then — kawaii/Rue 21 fusion, feat. the iPhone 4S. I miss those shorts. *They die 2 weeks later in a deer park. *spoiler alert
Hostel S promised free breakfast, so I stop off in the lobby to treat myself to their offering of toast with toast. With or without butter, coz options are fancy.
I don’t want to starve, so I make foraging my first goal of the day. I learned my lesson last night and resolve to walk in a straight line until further notice. You can always turn around and follow your straight line home, but turning corners is for the big leagues, kid.
Fortunately for me, Asakusa historical district centers around a wide, open air shopping arcade. Everything is closed at 6am on a Tuesday, but it’s sunny and the lack of crowds makes me feel less in the way.
I make it to the Promised Land: 7-11.
I return with my provisions and, flush with the success of my straight-line tactic, I head back out to challenge myself with exactly 1 corner-turn. My goal is to make it to the train station and back by the end of the day, one daring zig-zag at a time.
My travels would not make for a good travel blog.
You’re supposed to go with friends, hire guides, hit up the spots, eat the specialties, ask the locals, pose with the… I actually don’t know what you’re supposed to do.
But I don’t think anyone wants to read about the exciting day you spent in Tokyo, learning how to not get lost on sidewalks. It’s okay though, I’m not traveling.
I’m walking on the moon.
Every block and bike-lane is new, every thoroughfare and corner is an equal mystery, the stall signs and student tour groups are memories I’ll carry forever. I’m not sure why I would go to the Shibuya Crossing or Tokyo Disney Sea right now, when my mind is plenty blown by the sight of kids on the school playground, vendors selling melon pan, and young families from Nagoya watching koi under the bridge at Sensoji Temple.
I find myself leaning on the same wooden railing where a 4-year-old boy has his face pressed to the mesh fencing, while he calls out the colors and funny behavior of the fish.
He’s so excited, just to see fish. He travels like I do.
“Kawaii ne?” I murmur, because I can’t help it.
The brown eyes come up to me, wide and marveling. You and me both, buddy, I’m never not shocked when I manage to get Japanese out of my American mouth.
He just grins. I now have 3 friends in Japan.
This is what I came here for.
Someone travelling with me might have felt that I wasted my time and money. But that’s okay, I came alone, so it doesn’t need to bother either of us.
I’ve never dated, but I think, when you like someone, it’s normal to go on glamorous dates, to dress up, splurge, party, pose, check all the boxes. But when you start loving them, you want to meet them at home and say hi to their family; spend time talking, doing hobbies, doing nothing; see each other without the money, the makeup, and the magic.
It’s only weird coz I was in love before I got here. Don’t tell Japan. They already think I’m weird.
By nightfall, I’ve got the Sensoji side of Asakusa wired. One small step for mankind…
If it helps, I did one touristy thing that first day. The internet insisted that girls walking around in kimono would always be delighted to be asked for a photo together, like they’re unpaid Disney park characters. So I asked one. She agreed, but seemed pretty meh about the whole ordeal. I was, too, I’m never doing it again — but look how pretty! 3.5 friends and counting…
Day 1: wrapped. I can now walk around.
DO NOT CROSS 
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