Japan: Yokohama

Of my eight nights in Tokyo, I didn't sleep for four of them.  Not even a little.  The night before I went to Yokohama for the day I had been karaoking with basically my entire hostel.  A Californian native with a Korean background (Clara), a guy from the states, a girl from Australia and I were sitting around the lounge when Noraebongs came up.  In Korean, it literally means "a place of singing".  Karaoke is actually a Japanese word, combining "kara" which means "empty" and "oke" which means "orchestra", literally meaning "empty orchestra". 

We did not have to tell the rest of the hostel this to get them to come.  Two Spaniards, two Dutch guys (Kyle and Steve), two girls who were also teaching in Korea, a teacher from Oregon, and the first guy I met at the hostel--the one who was going to try and get arrested in order to have a place to stay--all went out for some good old-fashioned singing. 

Then it was 5 a.m., and everyone went to bed except me, (of course), Steve, and the girl from Australia.  We stayed up and watched the Olympics, talking about the randomness that is life.  The girl got up to get something and peaked out the window.  "You guys, the sun is up. I'm going to bed," she said and she left the room rushing for her bed, as if going to bed before the sun fully rose would somehow help her avoid the inevitable hangover that awaited her.

Steve's eyebrows went up: "Do you want to walk to the river and watch the sunrise?"

I said yes immediately, which I think surprised him, and we set out.  Thankfully, the hostel is only a short walk, but on the way I managed to make an enemy out of a stray cat.  Happy, a little drunk, and a little delusional from lack of sleep, we began a sort of staring contest in which I most undoubtedly lost: it resulted in my running down a random street in Tokyo and dodging around corners trying to lose something that has been on the streets its whole life, who knows every detail.  I think it realized its advantage because when I gave up and stopped to face my attacker, it merely looked at me in a way only cats can, and slunk away into some well-known escape route.  Unscathed, we made it to the river, and I bought us the only brand of coffee I could find at that hour.  It was awful. Still, the conversation, the talk of culture, (he made me read dutch just so he could laugh at my accent), the river, Tokyo as the sun rose, and the watered-down coffee was my moment.  It's mine, in my life.  Something about that is beautiful.

We made plans to meet at 10 a.m. after a three hour nap and head to Yokohama.  On the way we recruited Clara and Kyle.  A short train ride from Shibuya Station and we were in an entirely different place, a place I was relieved to be in.  Living in New York City, a tiny island of 9 million people, I thought I could handle any sort of crowd.  Escaping Tokyo, however, was like bursting out from under water.  I sucked in the cool air and could see, even as we emerged from the ground, the blue from the ocean peeking out from over the next street. 

First Clara and I decided that we should explore Chinatown, and I sucked down a bubble tea as I wandered through three stories of a panda store, looking at panda key chains, panda fans, panda pillows, panda lighters, and everything in between.  My companions had gotten caught up in the scenery outside, and as I headed back out onto the street, a Japanese girl approached me.  She had pigtails on the sides of her head, with different colored highlights streaming up until they faded at her perfectly black hairlines.  She was wearing white platform boots and an outfit that was entirely metallic gold.  When my eyes finally reached her face, I realized she was wearing pink blush in perfectly round circles and fake eyelashes. 

"Can I take your picture?" she asked.

I was shocked. This real-life doll wanted to take my picture?  Because I couldn't think straight I said yes, and became even more surprised when she held out her hand for my camera.  She wanted to take a picture of me with my camera?  As I computed this I saw her become startled by something behind me.  I followed her gaze across the street, and there was Steve taking a picture of us talking.  I had to calm her down, explain that he was a friend, and that photography was his hobby, to someone who spoke only Japanese.  Like the cat I frightened earlier she scurried away, and with a half-hearted good-bye she was gone.

From there Clara and I figured out how to leave Chinatown and find the park, which was right on the water.  We walked up it, consulting maps as the boys recorded each other doing fancy tricks and running around.  I was intent on finding a certain park I had read about online: the abandoned and broken-down remains of a foreigner's village from when Japan had completely closed it's borders at the beginning of the 20th century.  Something about that was fascinating to me.  Imagine being trapped in a country like Japan, where even their religion--Christianity--was considered crazy.  They picked up the language, and the culture, and adjusted to the seasons while they taught their Japanese neighbors tennis.  What a comfort tennis must have been for them.  Just when I had lost hope we found it.  Finding these dilapidated western buildings was exciting to me.  We could see where the plumbing for the bathroom was, where the living room used to be, and how big their houses were.  The hike was up a significant hill, but well worth it.  At the top were the most stunning views of the city, and we sat there for a long time pointing out the old-styled houses, the modern buildings, the windmills and power plants, the boats and trains and bridges and footpaths.  Looking out, we realized it really was a marriage of old and new.  The traditions and technology weren't competing, but working side by side, creating a new landscape I'd never come close to seeing before.

Starving, we decided to splurge on dinner.  Travelling for a while means budgeting--you can't go out for every meal if your travelling for months.  Travelling in Japan in a whole other story.  It means not going out for meals ever.  The day was perfect, however, and I think the fresh city-free air made us feel like we had escaped it all, and we invested in the first restaurant we saw.  Clara and I ordered beers while the boys had water and juice.  Steve tried a scallop for the first time.  I ate roasted peanuts off of a stick.  We sat there like old friends, talking about our day, planning for the next.  Before I knew it, it was time to get on a bus to Kyoto.  I had just made friends, and it was time to move on.  Steve was heading back home soon, Clara was moving onto yet another country, and I was headed south on a midnight bus, moving onward, towards a brand new city with new people and adventures in store.