Friday
After rendezvousing with our Icelandic friend Eyvi (who lives in Tokyo also), we headed out to the district where the Hodemonster's school, Waseda University, is located. The Hode wanted to take us to one of his favorite ramen joints, renowned for offering some of the spiciest god damn noodles to be found in Tokyo. It was a cozy little wood-furnished corner place, the kind of restaurant where you feel right at home from the moment you walk in. There was even a tiny Manga library by the entrance.
We were given this:
Tsukemen-style ramen, is what it was called. Tsukemen differs slightly from traditional-style ramen in that the soup and the noodles come in separate dishes, and the idea is to grab a bundle of noodles and douse them in the soup, then suck 'em up. It was, in a word, exquisite. The soup was nice and spicy as hell and the noodles were just right, and I actually managed to not commit any chopstick-related crimes against humanity. I guess I'm learning.
After this, we took a walk through the Waseda campus. It was much like your average college campus (full of awfully symmetrical plazas, beige buildings and the odd statue). We went into one of the taller buildings there, where I snapped some vista shots of the neighborhood.
After that, we headed out to the main street of Takadanobaba ('Baba' for short), where Hodezor felt compelled to inflict upon us this horrid travesty of a snack:
It's called dango. It's basically a few compressed balls of rice flour on a stick, covered in some form of sickly sweet sugar sauce. As with so many of the snacks I've had here, the first bite was okay. The second bite, however, mixed with the aftertaste of the first, was waaay too much. I was ready to hurl my liver, my lungs and my pancreas. I looked over at Krust, and this was his expression:
The actual picture itself is taken on a different occasion but I assure you, this was exactly what he looked like just then. We ended up giving our rice balls to Hodezor, who gobbled them up with what can only be described as frightening enthusiasm.
After browsing through a number of shops where we found clothes, souvenirs and gifts for the people back home, we picked up some groceries at the local Tokyu store and then landed back at the pad. We had an absolutely delicious taco feast (using a special kind of japanese beef, the name of which eludes me at the moment), and then headed out, to finally experience karaoke as it is supposed to be experienced.
At this point I must declare that I have never been a big fan of the whole karaoke thing, at least not the way it's done back home. I don't know about the rest of the West, but in Iceland karaoke is something you do at karaoke bars, on a stage in front of a whole bunch of people you don't even know. It's always seemed to me like something that's only done by really really drunk people, out to show how ruthlessly self-conscious they're not (because they're, like, really really drunk and stuff).
In Japan, Karaoke is something you do with a select group of friends in a small room. You're not out to prove any single thing, you're not out to show yourself off; you're just there to get the fuck on down with your friends. And there's free beer for the duration of your stay in the booth.
Icelanders + free beer = calamity.
Needless to say, we had an absolute blast.
I now understand what the whole karaoke thing is really about. Us westerners, as is our wont, have completely missed the point.
After this bout of shackle-throwing fun, we headed back to the crib for rest and recuperation. We had a big
Saturday
ahead of us, after all.
Krust had a bit of schoolwork to do, so he opted to stay home while the Hodemonster and I headed out to Akihabara, the major nerd shop and electronics district of Tokyo. It was quite amazing; establishments, small and large, selling everything from second-hand circuit boards, through complete sets of Japanese trading card games, to the latest in cutting-edge electronics. It was kind of like if you'd mix Shibuya with Shinjuku, and then replace the decadence with a sort of sweaty nerdness. I absolutely loved it.
A funny thing is happening in this neighborhood. I don't know if it's particularly weird by Japanese standards, but it's definitely bizarre enough to easily fit into any of the "Oh, those kooky Japanese!" stories that constantly float around on the intarwebs. Basically, the latest craze in Akihabara is something called a Maid Café, which is - yes, you guessed it - a café where all the waitresses are dressed in french maid outfits.
Feeling we had to get some first-hand experience with this particular form of insanity, the Hode and I made our way to one of these coffeeshops. We were shown into a room that was vaguely modeled after a classroom, with rows of seats all facing forward towards a big blackboard, underneath which was the main cash register.
After deciding what we would like to order, we sat there for fifteen minutes with a closed menu in front of us, basking in the warmth of complete indifference from every single one of the SEVENTEEN THOUSAND waitresses in the place. It wasn't until I got out my camera and started snapping pictures that one of the waitresses glid over to us, arms waving.
"No no no no no no no no no!" she said, panicky, like I'd been pissing on the blackboard or something.
"¿Que?" I said, innocently, snapping pictures the whole time.
"No picture!" she said, wagging her finger at me.
"Oh," I said. "Well, then, can you take our order, perha..."
She said something in Japanese, smiled politely, opened our closed menu back up, pointed to it in a vague manner that somehow managed to communicate the words "fuck off," and walked away.
Turns out these places have strict rules against customers photographing the girls. Why? Well, they have special customer cards, and they work like this: the more points you amass through buying overpriced coffee or soft drinks or food at these places, the closer you come to your goal: at 1000 points (which represents God knows how many meals), you are actually allowed to take pictures of the waitresses.
Anyway, we know how to take a hint. Eventually. So we went to this place instead:
A kebab stand, right down the street from that ridiculous excuse for a café. This place gave me one of the most absolutely god damn delicious pieces of fast food I have ever tasted in my life.
Kebabs in Iceland are a complete joke compared to this. This stuff had actual flavor, and plenty of it. Definitely coming back to this neigborhood, if only to have a kebab.
Before we left, the Hode snapped a picture of me in front of a particularly typical portion of Akihabara. It turned out to be a minor masterpiece of photography, and strangely emblematic of the whole trip. We've decided to call it "Gauti in Tokyo," because that, in a nutshell, is what it represents.
As we sped through the bowels of the city on our way back home, the Hodemonster spun his intricate social web through his telephone. Our plan for the night had been to go to Womb (the club from last weekend) to see Layo & Bushwacka tear the roof off the sucker, but there was nothing nailed down for the first part of the evening. By the time we got home, due to Hodezor's masterful people-wrangling, it had been established that we would meet up with some guys for some karaoke before heading out to the club.
We met up with Mark, along with fellow cool cats Tatsuro, Yohei and Yu, at a Shibuya karaoke joint owned by one of Mark's acquaintances. After a good deal of beer and some extremely hip-hop centric karaoke (just the way I like it; I got to rip up some Beastie Boys and Fugees shit), we headed out to Womb.
There is no adequate way for me to describe what a good night this was. I've had some tremendous clubbing nights in my time, but there is nothing that quite comes close. There was pretty much no downside to the entire evening. The music was absolutely massive on all floors; the people were friendly and outgoing; the alcohol was abundant and inexpensive; everything was basically perfect. After the club closed, a bunch of us headed out to an after-hours club called the Ruby Room (basically an afterparty with a bar), where I made the acquaintance of some extraordinary people, including a petite humorist who may be the single prettiest human being I have ever laid eyes on. I swear, the arguments for my moving to Tokyo just keep piling up.
After an absolute stunner of a night, we taxied home and glid into dreamland.
Sunday
Hodezor had promised us since we got here that we would get to go to Harajuku, the district where all the cosplay people hang out. It had to be on a Sunday, though, because that's when all these guys and gals come out to play.
This being a Sunday, we decided that we'd head out there and try our luck. The weather forecast had been fairly bad, though, so we were warned not to expect much. Indeed, when we got there, it was a wasteland. The Hodemonster remarked that this was the worst turnout he had ever seen.
We walked through the park, encountering a few rogue performers along the way; foremost among them, the Nunchuk Guy and the Old Man on the Drum.
Heading back towards the station, having given up any hope of seeing cosplayers, we were suddenly struck by the unmistakable sound of 50s rockabilly. Veering towards the sound, we were greeted by this delightful troupe of madmen:
They were so madly up for it, so perfectly devoid of self-consciousness, that they made me want to dive right in and join them. I was seriously contemplating it for a while there.
And then, just as I thought things couldn't get any weirder, lo and behold! Like a ray of warped sunshine, the cosplayers showed up en masse. And, of course, started dancing along.
This marked the beginning of a small influx of cosplayers to Harajuku. I guess they realized the weather wasn't that bad, despite the forecast, so they decided to come out. I was happy for that fact, because it meant I was able to get some authentic shots of this rare and beautiful breed.
I also at this point had an encounter with one of the more interesting characters I've had the privilege of meeting in recent memory, but I've decided to give him his own entry later and thus I won't say more here.
We enjoyed a crêpe meal at a french café, then headed on home for a nice evening of television-watching, book-reading and general relaxation.
Monday
Krust, the Hodemonster and I headed out to Nakano Broadway. Seriously, you can't call Akihabara a true nerd place once you've been to Nakano Broadway. It's a 4-floor shopping arcade, and it's packed to the gills with action figures, toys, memorabilia and comics. I swear, I have never seen so many glass cabinets in my life.
Every single floor, packed with memorabilia and collectibles and comics. I don't know whether I'm growing out of the nerd phase or just plain ol' growing old, but I found myself wondering at several points, "Who actually needs all this junk?"
I mean, take a look at this:
One hundred and fifty-seven thousand five hundred yen, for a near-microscopic, bug-eyed action figure older than me and you combined (and probably possessing quite a bit fewer conversational skills). That's ninety thousand Icelandic krónur; roughly thirteen hundred US dollars. For something that sits on your mantle and does... what? Look bug-eyed?
I just don't understand.
After a day spent in amazement at the variety of things human beings are able to assign meaning to (it wasn't our meaning, you see, so of course it was just plain weird), we headed to the Korean quarter, to partake of delicious Thai food at a place the Hodezor has recommended to us on a number of occasions. We were served satay pork skewers, cashew nut chicken and a spicy southern Thai curry in an extremely pleasant environment, marked by the kind of heartfelt, down-home friendliness you somehow only ever encounter at Thai restaurants.
It was perfectly delicious. The Satay sauce was exquisite, all the ingredients were fresh as could be, and the curry was nicely spicy. It wasn't Ban Thai, of course (nothing in this world beats Ban Thai), but it was an excellent Thai meal at an affordable price. Lovely mood and good service.
Following this, we dove deep into the heart of the Korean quarter for some Korean pancakes. Nothing could have prepared me for the flavor bomb that is the Korean pancake. Jesus.
It's basically a pancake filled with your choice of honey, japanese beans (vaguely cocoa bean-like), or cheese. We tried both the honey and bean varieties, and I'm happy to report that they were the absolute best pancakes I have ever had in my life. We literally battled over the last bite on the way back to the train.
That's about it. I've spent the past three hours constructing this entry and I'm quite a bit tired, so I beg your forgiveness for the lack of eloquent closing words.
Tomorrow, we're grabbing a rental car and heading out to Yokohama and some other outlying areas of Tokyo. Expect a full report in due time.
Much love, as always.
