Tokyo can best be described in four words: frightenly efficient and brazenly polite. There is no better place to go for the directionally challenged and those weary of today’s ill-mannered public. Got a business meeting? Look at the detailed map in English and Japanese drawn up by your colleague. Feeling far afield in the massive metro? Just peer above you for assistance, for every 50 meters is a color coded sign detailing your line and stop. Only in Japan can a weary wayward traveler pick a subway exit by major department store or Shinto shrine. Everyone is eager to be of assistance in Tokyo, even if they don’t speak your lingo. I had one store clerk talk to me for a full half hour in unintelligible Japanese as I was cruising around her department even though she knew from my puzzlement and tentative smile, that I understood zero native speak. It was as if she was hopelessly optimistic that by speaking long enough, I would come to dialect clarity and that jabbering on was better than the unacceptable alternative, being of no help to me.

Thankfully, niceties outdated in the States rule here as do beautiful wrappings and neatnik pleasantries. Where else would Subway wrap your Diet Coke in a taped paper bag and stores happily cover the smallest purchase in the prettiest of bags and “laminate” to protect against the rain? Brilliant. Each neighborhood has a unique feel: buttoned up Mitsukoshiomae, tony Omote-sando, neon-soaked Roppongi with discount powerhouse Don Quiote and the trendy girls after my own heart in Harajuku. But regardless of your landing pad, one feels valued here, honored, special, a member of an ordered and respected society: something that no amount of encounters with disinterested gum-popping salesgirls or agitated commuters in America can conjure up. Long live Tokyo. In the land of the Emperor lies hope for civilized society AND civilization.

Comments(0)

Gallivanting abroad these days isn’t the quixotic breathtakingly unique adventure it used to be. Let’s be honest, you’re more likely to experience the unfamiliar watching the Animal Channel than you are hopping a 747 off the Uncle Sam mainland into the continents beyond. KFCs and Ikeas are ubiquitous. There are however exceptions to the rule and lucky for me, I found it in my adventure to the land of the rising sun. Upon learning I’d hit the keno jackpot and would be going to T’Town Japan as part and parcel of my ceremonial duties as the Czarina of Global e-Health, I confess that a potent mixture of girlish glee and thirty-something dread quietly crept over me. In my mind, the real Tokyo has always been a dizzying mix of a Harrison Ford post-apocalyptic sci-fi flick and the Last Emperor, with silk robes flowing, talking so fast that subtitles simply wouldn’t do and a thousand cherry trees in bloom. Turns out I wasn’t that far off. In design, deed and culture, the town is very uniquely Aeon Flux cum Hirohito, although with its industrial feel and old steel bridges, strangely reminiscent of Pittsburgh, PA in the late 1970’s.

Where to start? Let’s dig in at the Tameike-sanno beginning. My journey to the island began with a bang as they say, or more specifically, an ouch! During a grueling flight, I consumed my weight in therapeutic cranapple juice and obtained a personal best… in lavoratory passes that is…25 trips to the littlest girl room this side of the date line in a mere 14 hours. UTI’s it would seem, know no geographic boundaries and provide for great anxious hand-wringing when one needs uber-drugs upon disembarkment and can’t speak a lick of Samurai. Luckily, just as a blobby pink figure in a dress is the ubiquitous woman’s potty symbol, so to, is pointing to your pelvic bits and frowning, the sign for girlie plumbing distress.  To wit, the lucky nurse speaking one word of English “Pain” was a willing audience for the symptomatic pantomime show I put on upon my arrival.

Treating my condition was a real case study for the unheralded efficiency and hospitality of the Orient. Immediately after my steps off the plane in Narita, a full-service health clinic and six airport volunteers offering me directions quickly came into view. Who says service with a smile is dead? Important note: in Japan, it just comes with a paper sick mask. I was so shocked at all this Miss Manners civility and pre-occupied with my ailment that I nearly missed my friend Tetsuo (Ted) dutifully waiting for me as I passed through customs. Ted is a true cultural hybrid, growing up in Western Japan, and spending stints in Tokyo, Palo Alto and DC. In keeping with Japanese tradition, he showed me one heck of a Shogun good time. This included a trip to the hailed Edo Museum and a 14-course vegetarian traditional Buddist monk feast.

I can not extend high enough praise to the restaurant Bon. If I were Japanese, I’d give it twenty bows. Featuring individual rooms for each supping group with bamboo and native woods aplenty, this is a culinary zen paradise complete with wheat, soba and tofu in every imaginable genre, including almond flavored, gelatinized treats. As an added bonus of seasonable bounty, I consumed cherry blossoms in at least four distinct forms: leaf wraps, tea base, tempura temptation and in the Japanese equivalent of the veggie burrito. Good thing these tasty delights bring luck. Otherwise, I’d have a bright pink-tinged tongue for nothing. I’ve learned something about eating yummy nuggets across the ocean. There is seemingly no limit to the fortune that can come from consuming it. Food really is worth its weight in gold..flecks that is, which grace virtually every dessert. Precious metals it seems and sucking, instead of biting your sugar candies pleases the Gods. Did I mention that our din-din included two other special guests, an IT guru and a professorial transgenderism expert? This along with the explanation of all of our consumables led to one savory time at Bon. I’ll leave you to chew on our menu of 17th century soup and Sen Cha while heralding my chomp-chomp bravery. Meantime, stay tuned for our next installment when TLRG takes on the Tokyo transit system!

Comments(0)