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Tokyo Disneysea: Roundabout
A triumphant walk of independence and adventure through the gates of Disneysea must have gotten to my head as I decided against taking the monorail one stop back to the Maihama station, and decided to walk instead. I trekked through the perimeters of the Disney theme parks trying to follow the monorail tracks, only to get disorientated as my foot path wasn't presented with the option of skirting the shadows of the monorail tracks, causing me to go off-tangent.
I zipped up my Rock-Star jacket to brave the chilly night winds that were getting gradually colder as I made a roundabout, while pondering the options of spending my final night in Tokyo; a (re)visit to the special 250m-observatory in Tokyo Tower (and picking up souvenirs that I had failed to obtain during my first visit due to getting too absorbed by the breathtaking night scene), or a venture into the Japanese clubbing scene at Ropponggi? The question continued to bog my mind as the train departed from the Magical Kingdom.
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Roppongi: Two Lost Souls
The Party Animal within me totally ravaged the my Quiet-Appreciator-persona as my Gothic feet took me to Roppongi, famed district for clubs and Japanese nightlife (or at least according to the make-shift "Places of Interest" map on the bulletin board back at the hostel). Never being the academic type, I did hardly any form of research as to what club to look out for or what to expect, so I tried asking the Station Master for directions to where the party's at, using my half-assed Jap, only to leave him puzzled and confused.
Giving up, I decided to revert to my most primitive navigational technique, blind faith, as I headed up to the surface to take a walk about the vicinity in a random direction. An up and a down the street left me disappointed as I failed to find any bright lights or loud music no matter which way I looked. Waiting at the traffic junction, a Bob-haired guy started walking towards me.
"Excuse me, you know which way to Shinjuku?" He asked, using heavily-staccato-ed English.
"I'm sorry, I'm not sure. I'm not Japanese." I replied. Realising the fact that we were two lost souls in a foreign land easily spring-boarded a conversation. Apparently, the poor chap was a Korean who was travelling alone, and had his purse (or so he calls it) pick-pocketed at Tokyo Tower earlier in the evening. Left penniless, Bowl-head decided to take a walk back to his hotel in Shinjuku, following a general direction.
Seizing the chance, I opportunistically asked for a form of guidance to my plight, a direction, a name, a locale... anything. Taking out his handbook, he gave me two names, "Core" and "Valefor." But he was quick to suggest a certain "Club Asia" in Shibuya, telling me that he was there last night, and "the ladies are very beautiful."
A quick thanks and an offering to help him out with his train ticket was politely rejected, as he said that he wanted to try to walk the rest of the distance. We parted ways as I couldn't help but notice the similarity in the kind of faith or spirit of adventure or whatever you wanna call it that we both had.
A return to the Station Master had me dishing out the newly-obtained names of the clubs in hope of getting a direction or something out of him. Yet, the expression remained the same. Since time was of the essence, I decided to take Bowl-head's suggestion and headed down to Shibuya.
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Shibuya: This Left Feels Right
A third visit to the Shibuya district started with an attempt to ask for directions to "Club Asia" from the aged Station Master which expectedly fell through, as I made my way to the surface. Standing at the asterisk junction, I decided to approach a not-so-hip-looking youth for directions to "Club Asia."
Skirting the right side of Shibuya for 20 minutes had me pondering about the accuracy of the direction I was just given, considering I quite remembered Bowl-head telling me that it was to the left side of the station exit. I finally cracked and decided to prey upon a more useful victim, as I approached a relatively more fashion-savvy youth on a bicycle.
Despite his rather too-cool-for-you-Jap-punk look, my latest victim was actually anything but that. Conversing with me in simple English, he was more than willing to help, even offering to take me there, since he said he was going the same way as well, the only catch was that we had to wait for his girlfriend, who was indoors drawing some yen.
After his rather well-dressed and relatively attractive counterpart appeared, we headed down the busy streets of Shibuya for a proposed 15 minute walk. Along the way, we chatted about Singapore, and it seems that my guide had actually been to our sunny island, and the two things that left an impression on him were the Night Safari and Orchard Street (seems like a majority of foreigners, including Ronan Keating, tend to make this mistake).
15-minutes with a stranger is an amazingly long time when you can only converse in the fundamental levels of a language; and this apparent eternity allowed me to gain more knowledge than necessary. Either way, the lesson learnt from Toshinori Iida, 26, full-time hair-stylist and part-time kind soul, was that: Chin-chin was right, the Jap people are really generally nice people, even if they might look like punk-asses.
After winding through some back alleys and asking for a confirmation from other Japs who were also more than willing to give directions, I bidded my 15-minute guide a heartfelt thanks and a farewell as I headed for gates of the Japanese Club Culture.
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Club Asia, Shibuya: Get the Party Started
Discovering that the party only starts after 11pm (bloody slackers), I decided to use the 20 minutes or so that I had to kill to grab dinner, ANOTHER Tamago Double Mac. A lonesome dinner staring out the window sill of the second floor of Mac built my anticipation as I headed back towards the club.
Finally open, a 3,000 yen ($36 SGD) entrance fee was the last obstacle between me and some Shibuya chics, or so I thought. Entering the club, I quickly found out that contrary to Bowl-head's touting of the club being very big, it was only the size of one of the random clubs in Mohammad Sultan, I guess Korea must have REALLY small clubs. Yet, the most excruciating part of the circumstance would have to be that: including me, they were a grand total of 5, yes FIVE, people in the club (excluding the staff). Whoopee.
The dance floor played a brand of Japanese trance, but it didn't matter since no one was dancing. I roamed the club about 3 times, up and down, exploring EVERY nook and cranny, before getting my free Smirnoff and settled in a corner to start writing in my travel log, whilst waiting for the beautiful people to stream in.
Curiosity and boredom drove me to chat with the bartender, revealing the fact that the club expected about 300 people, even on a faithful Monday night. But the catch was, the crowd was only expected to come in after 2.a.m. Horrified by potentially having to waste 3 hours before I could actually see the promised land of Shibuya-chics, I started to contemplate ways as to how to pass my time.
Heading back to the dance floor, I saw this lone Jap dude on the dance floor. The only thing more flamboyant than his frilly white shirt and his shades looks was his somewhat awkward shuffling. His dancing was a contrast of upper-body and lower-body, the legs were sliding very smoothly over the dance floor, yet the arms were jerkily moving to the pounding beats of trance. I stood entertained for some 10 minutes before I noticed a new addition to the fray. A beanie-donned guy started to make his way from out of the corner of the dance floor, dancing a more groovy and smooth R&B-styled dance with cigarette in hand. It didn't last long though, and soon it was only back to the lone shuffler.
Midnight came and I could only stand there entertained by the awkward dancing for THAT long, so I started to considering leaving the club and try to catch the last train, and coming back if I so happen to miss it. But a stupid clause in the clubbing policy quickly ran my plan into the wall, as I saw a huge sign that said... "No Re-entry."
What the hell? No re-entry, such a STUPID policy is unheard of in the local clubs, so I decided to try my luck negotiating with the long-haired bouncer, telling him that I needed to go fetch a friend and will be back shortly. The fucker was damn insistent on his assclown policy despite the club ONLY having less than 10 people then, and I was sure I stood out like a sore thumb cos I was the only foreigner there. I tried telling him that I need to AT LEAST go call my friend, and the asshole told me to use a handphone, which I'm sure would be PEFECTLY logical for me to be carrying one.
Negotiation finally ended with a tap on the shoulder and a badly-attempted American-accented, "Whatever it is, there is no re-entry, man."
*Arms going into an Ultra-man cross*
"Fuck it," I said under my breath as I left the club, and RAN towards the train station, the clock ticking down on me.
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Shibuya Station: A New Hope
Known to Fry Smaller Brains
Reaching the station breathless, I dashed up the stairs to the Ginza line, only to be greeted by drawn shutters. I pulled the Subway map out of my pocket, my hotel was at Asakusa, and the Ginza line was already closed. The next best bet would be to try to get as close as I could to the Asakusa, and walk the rest of the distance.
The Yamanote Line proved to be my best bet as I headed for the platform. Sadly, I realised that the last two trains don't go all the way down to Ueno (3 Stations from Asakusa), and ended at Ikebukuro instead (8 stations away at least). Out of desperation, I seeked the Station Master's instruction, and he presented to me A New Hope; to take the train down to Yoyogi and change to the private Chuo Line to get me as close to Ueno as possible. He hurried me onto the train as it arrived at the platform.
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Harajuku Station: Step Back in Time
My studying of the map had me alighting one stop later, to an unexpected Harajuku instead of the desired Yoyogi. Thinking that I had taken the train the wrong direction, I quickly hopped on the train on the opposite platform, back to Shibuya. But it was only on the train back that I realised that I had actually taken the right direction, just that it was 2 stops down instead of 1.
Arriving back at Shibuya, I was considering the option of going back to the club and paying another 3,000 yen and partying till the first train, for all I know; I might get lucky with some Shibuya-chic and have the shag of my life. But the reality of the last train at the platform shattered my fantasies as I boarded it.
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Yoyogi Station: Crossroads
Finally getting it right this time, I ran to the station exit and asked the Station Master for directions to the Chuo Line, only to have him solemnly tell me that the station was already closed. I headed to the nearby phone booth to give Bernard a call, asking him for advice. After getting over the shock of how my luck played me out, he told me to try walking to Shinjuku to catch a night bus, if not, find an Internet cafe to dwindle my time away till daybreak.
The Station Master's revelation killed off the first option, as he told me there was no night bus on a Monday night. Vacant cabs littered the nearby street, waiting for hapless victims to prey upon. I approached with caution as I asked how much would it cost to get me back to my hotel in a cab, only to be slapped with a potential penance of paying 6,000 yen ($78 SGD) for my folly. The Japanese cabs were really as exorbitant as they were made out to be, perhaps its true that a cabbie only needs to carry two passengers a day in order to survive.
Rule of elimination only left me with one option, to walk. But the question was, which way? Yoyogi was the mid-point of Shibuya and Shinjuku. A walk back to the potential of getting laid, but having to pay another 3,000 yen for a club I didn't really like; or a walk to a district I had familiarized myself with for an economical way to spend the night?
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Yoyogi-Shinjuku: Lone Wolf
The thinning budget had me opting for the latter, as I started to head towards the general direction of Shinjuku. A lone wolf, tearing through the chilly night winds of Tokyo, prancing along the quiet streets, bypassing the occasional passer-by or hobo.
Stopping at the 24-hour Macs along the way for toilet breaks, I was tempted to just sit and sleep there with the rest of the hobos waiting to waste the night away. But my adventurous spirit wouldn't let my body rest, as I bought coke after coke to keep my senses up as I continued my walk. Sipping the caffeine and chewing on the ice, breathing the cold air out after each piece, I could hear my own voice ringing in my head, "Walk, Jer, Walk. This feeling should be familiar to you. Its something that you've know you've been through before."
Using my basic Japanese to ask for directions from the road-works uncles working through the night a handful of times, I managed to keep myself on track towards my destination. Passing by a China-man pissing into the bushes, a group of Caucasians singing and dancing on the road side, and long stretches of total isolation, a familiar sight finally loomed at the horizon after almost 1.5 hours of walking.
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Shinjuku: Great is the Man who walks out of the Jaws of Temptation
Finally arriving at Shinjuku, the 2 nights of familiarizing with the area taught me where to head for an Internet Cafe. Yet, the adventurer's spirit was still not quite quenched, as I decided to take a walk around Kabuki-Cho on my own.
I toured the familiar streets of Shinjuku, stopping at the occasional restaurant to stare at the menu to entice myself. My path was occasionally blocked by the doormen outside of the Shinjuku clubs (essentially strip or sex clubs) beckoning me to patronise their parlours. These were rather harmless as the old men did nothing to spark my imagination.
More dangerous were the actual hookers out on the streets trying to solicit customers (or is it the other way round...). While previous nights out at Shinjuku only had Nigger-pimps coming up to us, a quiet Monday night seemed to prove business to be so bad that the goods had to put themselves out on the open shelf for the choosing.
One came up behind me when I was staring at a Sushi Menu, to have me turn my head to see a visibly old face behind thick make-up smiling at me. A quick and resolute wave expressed my disinterest boldly. Another more blatant one came up to me at a cross-junction and hooked my arm, speaking to me in some weird tongue, probably some China dialect or something.
"Wakarimasen (I don't understand)," was my response to her, as she changed tongue, speaking to me in Jap next. The only thing that I could pick out after years of Jap-porn training was "Kimochi," but I continued expressing disinterest.
However, there was one that came DAMN close. Dressed in a tight brown dress and with the big hair and thick make-up, a late 20s / early 30s chic with a shapely figure came up to me and hooked my arm, speaking to me in Jap. Again, I told her that I don't understand, prompting her to switch to English.
"Oh, so where are you from?" she asked, still holding my arm.
"Singapore." I said.
"Oh Shin-ga-po-ru, Shin-ga-po-ru is ok," she said, as I wondered what is the innuendo behind that statement. You mean there is any nationality that is not ok?
She proceeded to touch my chest and said, "I give you a bery shi-pe-sho ma-sa-ji. Make you feel bery goo-da." My thoughts ran wild as the idea of fucking a Jap chic with a tight figure and a authentic Janglish accent ran through my head.
"No, its ok," I replied as I smiled sheepishly, resoluting myself against my lust as I considered the budget issues of having to pay for her services, on top of actually paying for a room at a Love Hotel, which will come up to a total of probably more than 10,000 yen.
"Sex-su?" she asked, in a final attempt to entice me.
"No, its ok." I determinedly replied, as I walked away from the disappointed look on her face. I have to say that I was really tempted, as in REALLY tempted, but I guess in the end, my dogma of not paying for sex held me back, for better or for worse. "Great is the man who walks out of the Jaws of Temptation," and I guess on that night, I was GREAT.
Tired of walking, I finally decided to settle down at an Internet cafe, which charged 200 yen for the 1st hour, and 105 yen for every 15 minute block after that. The stupid thing was, they had two branches of the same chain within walking distance, so it would make a lot more sense to pay 2x200 yen for the 2 hours I had to waste, by changing location after 1 hour, compared to staying at one location for 2 hours and end up paying more than 600 yen.
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Shinjuku-Asakusa: Full Circle
2 hours quickly passed as I had a comfy chair and an Internet connection to kill time. Most coincidentally was that I was able to MSN with my brother who was in China then and happened to be online at 3 plus to listen to my bitching. Day broke at 4.30 a.m. as usual as I waited outside the train station for it to open.
The shutters raised and I headed to the ticket machine to purchase a ticket, only to realise that I had gone to the wrong station. The bitchy thing about the Japanese subway is that it is SO bloody confusing since they have 3 main companies and numerous private companies each running their own subway lines. That means, at one place, say Shinjuku, there can be 3 stations at different areas of Shinjuku, each corresponding to its own company's subway line.
Finally getting to the right station at Shinjuku, I boarded the Yamanote line to head towards Ueno, making an effort to memorise the stop before Ueno, so that I could wake up even if I had happened to hear it in my sleep. But I guess a sleepless night in Tokyo caused me more exhaustion than expected as when I woke, the station name was something that I didn't even remotely remember reading. I checked the map, only to realise that I had overslept some 8 stops, going 3/4 of the circular Yamonote line, when I was supposed to go through 1/2 of it only. Once again, I dragged my corpse out of the train to switch direction.
Finally, arriving at Ueno, I exited the station to look for the rival company's station. As luck might have it, at all the other stations, I couldn't find a map, yet at Ueno, I could. However, ironically, the map that I found was probably so old and often pointed-at that the entire section of the map that was relevant to me had faded out, rendering it utterly useless. Blind faith and two circles around the area finally took me to the needed station and the train back to Asakusa.
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Asakusa: Touchdown
My LONG, sleepless, torturous night on the street of Tokyo finally drew to a close as I arrived back at Asakusa. As I turned the right out of the train station exit, NEVER was I SO glad to see the huge red banner that advertised for the capsule hotel which I had booked the day before, as I knew it signified that a much-needed hot bath and a well-deserved rest was within my grasp. I stumbled up the stairs into the Capsule Hotel to claim my prizes.
I sat in the Hot bath, staring into space and shaking my head in utter disbelief of the chain of events that had happened to me the entire night, about how the entire thing came together (or fell apart in this case). Yup, it was the kind of thing that could ONLY happen to me alright, a continuous chain of shit, every link in the chain outdoing the previous. It was a complete disaster yet in retrospect, it is a beautiful one; one that would make the trip extremely memorable to me personally, and probably insanely unique. When I finally got over the shock of it, I crawled into my capsule to get the best 45 minutes of rest EVER.
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