Manila

I didn’t manage to get much sleep the night before. Japan! Was it true? Was I really going? Did I know enough Japanese to get around? Would I look like a complete hick with my less-enlightened fashion sense? Would Japanese women squeal at the sight of me? Ah, the thoughts that pass in the small hours.

After one last leap into the fray that is Metro Manila traffic, we arrived at NAIA. The wait at the airport wasn’t too bad. Since my fiancee and her family were flying in executive class (even though I could only afford to get myself an seat in economy), we got to stay at the airport lounge which had free wifi. Still feeding my internet addiction right up to the point I head off to Japan.

Japan. Like the wait before my trip to the UK, I worried that Japan wouldn’t, couldn’t possibly live up to my expectations. Aside from the warped impression I formed as an otaku, there’s also all those short documentary segments they show on TV. You know the ones — they all have this pleasantly mild English voice-over describing the many wonders of certain aspects of Japanese culture — green tea cuisine, paper-making, pottery, new mutant strands of rice resistant to nuclear attack, and so on.

The actual flight to Japan itself was very relaxing. I was the only person on my row, and I chose a window seat. Looking out as the plane made its way across Luzon toward Japan, I saw icky brown tailings spilling out from a river mouth into the great blue sea, diffusing into it. With any luck we’ll all poison ourselves before we take anyone else down with us, I thought.

On the other hand, seeing the untouched areas of the Philippines from the air made me wonder why we were tearing the land up in the first place. To pay off our debts to international bankers, which we incurred because our fatcat politicians need to buy their mistresses new designer-label purses, or to pay for trips out of the country. Like to Japan, for instance.

Oops.

Narita

Anyway, after flying over a disconcertingly clean cityscape, we finally landed in Narita. Every time I ride on a plane, I rate the landing on a scale of 1 to 10, 10 equivalent to “I didn’t even feel us land!” and 1 being, well, burning wreckage. This was a 7. Par.

We met with the guy who was driving us to our hotel in Tokyo. I’d tell you what his name was except I never found out what it was. He regaled us with stories of how he went to the US for college and eventually spent the whole time playing golf. He went to USC. I’m not sure golf would have been my diversion of choice if I was in his shoes. Eventually, he told us, after he went to Jamaica, 9-11 happened and he was denied reentry into the States. Because Japanese layabouts skipping out on college and living on their parents’ money are prime candidates for terrorist acts, I guess.

The Imperial Hotel

The Ginza Skyline from my hotel room window

After oohing and ahhing our way through Ginza (”Oooh Kabuki Theater! Ahh Ginza!”) we arrived at the Imperial Hotel. My fiancee’s father warned us that it was like a maze. This was less of an exaggeration that I would have thought. For example, to get to our room, you have to enter the main lobby, take the elevator up to the mezzanine, walk across to the guest building, enter your card key for access to the guest elevators, go up to the 21st floor, and then hang a right at the end.

On the other hand, to get to the diner we at our late dinner at, you need to go down to B1, and then… actually I have no idea how we got there. B1 was an even more confusing maze than the upper floors were. All I know is that I had the beef curry and it was delicious and extremely overpriced.

I was roommates with my fiancee’s brother, so no taking any strange girls to my hotel room. Kidding. Maybe. Anyway after haggling over what to have for breakfast the next day (”2100 yen for a slice of melon NO WAI”) we finally went to sleep.

Big day tomorrow, I told myself.