Jürgen's 70th Birthday World Tour, Stop #5: Tokyo

So here we are: The trifecta of major Asian cities has been completed, and I must say, on a high note. Tokyo surpassed my expectations in every way. Thankfully, I had scheduled four full days for Japan's capital, and I am glad I did.

My Japan Airlines flight from Hong Kong (after some proper pre-departure lounge hopping that was accompanied by simultaneous blogging) lasted only about five hours or so, which thanks to the general direction of travel resulted in only a one-hour time differential. The JAL crew was attentive yet not as much so as those of Cathay and especially Qatar; however, the food was exquisite. The cabin was similar to that of an AA trans-oceanic flight (of course, it always depends on the actual aircraft type, but the general configuration stays similar). We landed a little after dark, and after quick entry formalities I got my first taste of the Tokyo railway system on the way to my hotel.

Before my arrival in Japan, I had tried to learn as much as possible about the trains and the complex mix of different rail companies. Singapore and Hong Kong had been simple: Use your Visa card and simply tap the reader when entering and exiting the station (or boarding or leaving the tram), and that was it. But in Tokyo, not all fare gates allow payment with a chip-enabled credit card, and some lines don't even accept them at all. My research had shown me that the safest way to solve the fare puzzle is to buy a Suica card, which costs about $3 and can be preloaded with any amount of money. This card is not only accepted for all types of public transportation but can also be used at convenience stores (long live 7-Eleven!) and other businesses. The only catch was that I could not use my credit card to buy the Suica. So, the next step was to find an ATM and use my Charles Schwab debit card to withdraw $50 in yen (you may remember my having written about the CS card and the full reimbursement of all ATM fees that may be incurred, worldwide) and then use the cash to finally get the needed plastic.

The Suica became my best friend. Tap going into the station, tap going out, never think about fares, whether on the bus or the train, just as simple as a credit card in Singapore or Hong Kong. The best thing, at the end of my stay in Tokyo I received a full refund of the cost of the card and any unused preloaded funds, minus a small $1.50 processing fee. Sweet. I really don't know what the exact individual fares were (or how they were calculated) since the gate display would just very briefly show how many yen were deducted and what the remaining balance was, before the next person behind me activated the reader. I spent on all my ground transportation in Tokyo about $30, which includes the monorail from and back to Haneda airport. One can't quibble with that.

Let's stay with the railroad network for just a few more moments. Both Singapore and Hong Kong's systems are extremely intuitive from the first moment you step into a station. But Tokyo's system is much more intricate and it takes a little while to figure out its inner workings. Part of the issue is that non-kanji directions are not as often used as the local script, and so it takes longer to find out what you're looking for. (There's a second type, hiragana, which obviously looks different from kanji but is as unintelligible to me as hieroglyphics.) Since there are so many different lines, it is not easy to differentiate the various shades of red or green on a map, and even the maps are so cluttered with script that they become extremely difficult to figure out. I finally learned to go with the name of a line, such as the Yamamote Line, and go from there. The two-letter abbreviation for the Yamamote is JR, but then there are sub-lines such as the JA, JT, or JK lines. But initially, these sub-lines are nowhere to be seen on any of the signage unless one gets physically close to the platforms from where these lines start. It's not rocket science once you know how the system works, but until you get to that point there's a bunch of cussing.

The railcars are extremely clean (like everything in Tokyo) and comfortable. The seats are upholstered, and I did not see one sticker, graffiti, or window scratch as one would expect in any metro car in our western universe. What do Japanese people think when they travel to Berlin or New York? The passengers are without a fault polite and respect others—no pushing and shoving to get on or off. Each platform has a "manager," a uniformed and white-gloved official who supervises each arrival and each departure, at least during the busy times of the day. On one train I was able to observe a white-gloved engineer trainee being instructed on how to operate the train. It was fascinating standing behind the two, separated by just a heavy rope.

White gloves are not reserved just for train employees. While the few bus drivers I observed merely wore a suit and tie but no gloves, taxi drivers are all dressed to a T, and they do wear white gloves as well. I don't know whether this is truly a country with refined manners, but from what I saw there is much, much, much more attention paid to such externalities than back home. We're slobs in comparison.

Remember, what I am writing here is based on my four days of observations in four different sections of Tokyo. I can't speak for Japan and the Japanese. I may be totally off in my interpretation of what I encountered. But I have to say that I was stunned by the gentle, friendly, civilized atmosphere by which I was surrounded. At no point did I feel uncomfortable and not wanted—amazing how far a slight nod, a quick smile, a faint arm gesture will go.

Tokyo is a huge metropolis. Its extended urban area has somewhere between 37 to 41 million inhabitants, depending on where the boundaries are drawn. The "inner" city is the world's largest, at around 14 million. That's a lot of people. Sitting in the swank 45th-floor-level Bar Bellustar one night, I could not believe all those lights, all the way to the horizon, not ending. The view was truly unforgettable. It seemed that I was almost on eye level with the 2,080 feet (634 meters) tall Tokyo Sky Tree, at least at that time the third-tallest structure in the world. (I had tried to go up to one of its two observation decks, but Sky Tree tickets get sold out days in advance.) The view of the full moon just ascending next to the tower was truly something. I sipped my sake and nibbled on my smoked salmon and tried to think about all those logistics: providing electricity, pumping water all the way up to the highest buildings, moving people, getting rid of their trash and excrement, keeping them all safe. It's in moments like this that I think about how complex our world truly is. I'm glad I'm not the world monitor.

Interestingly enough, there were very few times that I actually heard a police or ambulance siren. Despite the thousands and thousands of people that are out day and night, one barely ever sees a policeman. Of course, there are surveillance cameras everywhere, but I didn't have the same feeling as in Hong Kong that I was constantly watched. I know, that doesn't make much sense; maybe it is my innocent belief that the Chinese are more Big Brother than the Japanese. I dunno.

My hotel, the DoubleTree in Ariake (less than a minute away from not just one but two metro stations, ideally located), was situated in a futuristic-looking business park environment on land that was reclaimed in the 1960s. From my 13th-floor tiny but super-modern room I had a direct view of distant Mt. Fuji, framed by two skyscrapers that were part of this Tokyo Bay neighborhood. It was by far the nicest hotel that I stayed in during this trip; my Hilton Gold status (thanks to my AMEX credit card) not only secured the high floor but also gave me free access to the bountiful breakfast buffet. I had booked the room with points and saved a little more than a thousand dollars over the best available rate.

From the Doubletree, it took about 30 to 45 minutes to get to my daily starting points for my excursions. I had used Copilot, Microsoft's AI program, to develop four non-overlapping itineraries as guiding principles for my four days on the ground. I tried to mix contemporary and hip Tokyo with more quiet and traditional areas, throwing in cultural must-sees and green spaces. I must say that this approach worked really well, similar to a recipe which, in all reality, is just a suggestion and not an absolute. Ash, as I like to call my AI, screws up regularly in regard to opening times, or locations, or distances, but she's always happy to reverse herself and make more suggestions. She has learned that I do enjoy the occasional brewpub, and she always suggested a spot for a scenic nightcap. Coupling her results with more hands-on directions that I received from Google Maps, Rome2Rio, and also Locus meant that I didn't get lost and saw what I intended to see.

London has its Piccadilly Circus, New York has its Times Square, and Tokyo has ... at least three such hubs! I visited Shinjuku, Shibuya Crossing, and Ginza, all of them at different times of the day, and always they were just throbbing with life. Wow, the intensity! The throngs of people, the neon lights, the video screens, the traffic. If you were to see just this part of Tokyo, you would think that there are no old or even older people in Japan. All three hubs are completely in the hands of young people, all clutching cell phones, immortalizing friends on TikTok, taking one selfie after another, oblivious to the world's problems and the looming catastrophes. We live now, and to hell if we care! But isn't that what we proclaimed back in the '70s?

These young people must be the drivers of the economy, at least in the capital. Shop, shop, shop. Where the money is coming from is a secondary question, and I tried to get answers during my brewpub stops when occasionally I was able to talk to a local. How can so many 19- to 29-year-olds be out in the streets at all times of the day, populate the malls and spend money (I mean, I saw those lines at the cash registers) instead of being at the university or at work? The laconic answer I heard from two sources was: They use their parents' money. Well, maybe that's where the middle-aged people are, in the offices (or driving the train, or directing the traffic), earning the money their kids spend.

For me, as a geezer who has no immediate ties to the young generation, it was interesting to see what the fashion du jour is, at least for the females: short skirts or very short pants and knee-high boots, or UGGs with white woolen socks or black knee-highs, and a lot of bare skin. Forget about the temperature, which didn't hit the high 40s until well after noon. Fluffy, furry jackets (mostly white) provide enough warmth. Some of them wore some of those platform boots that were in vogue back in the, what?, early days of grunge or whatever? It's pretty much fun to observe. And then sprinkled into the mix will be one or two young women in kimonos, real or rented, who cares? There was a lot of eye candy out in the streets, but at 70 I have passed the official red line to gaze with longing eyes.

I couldn't quite understand the concept of the rented kimonos, but especially around the temples there were numerous places offering them. Some of the guys would wear a similar outfit that I believe is called a yukata. Both of the couple would look so festive and spiffy. Right next to them might be a gaggle of school children on the way home, in their blue uniforms, wearing black patent-leather shoes, a backpack, and a little cap for the boys or a bowler-style hat for the girls. At times like those I try to remind myself that I am seeing for a moment or two an eight-year-old who speaks a different language and who has his whole life still ahead of him.

I should wish them luck, of course, and if I were Japanese I would have done so in the way Japanese ask for wishes to come true: They approach a temple, throw a few coins into a receptacle, ring a bell, and clap and clasp their hands and think a wish. Or they just pull out ¥100, or ¥200, or ¥500 if it's really an important one, and then draw a paper lot (see a few paragraphs below) out of drawer or some other receptacle and read their luck. If it turns out to be good luck, be happy and maybe throw another coin or two, and if it is bad luck, well, just tie the strip of paper to a string and leave it! There's always another day to pay a few more coins for better luck. Ingenious.

I never figured out where all the money is going, but I assume it at least partially funds what we would call charitable purposes. I saw only one beggar in the streets, and I can't recall the location (such as close to a temple or the like). You don't see poverty in Tokyo's streets (just as it was not visible in Singapore and only very marginally in Hong Kong). Of course, Japan does have a big problem: the ageing of its population. When I talked to locals or expats who had lived here for a few years I always heard the same thing: There are more and more old people who are rotating out of the productive economic cycle, and the young people need to pay for their support. There's a social security system in place (I didn't dig into Google after these beer-driven discussions), but it appears to have similar problems that our western countries' retirement schemes have. So, it would make sense to assume that the temples have a role in taking care of those not as fortunate as others. The countryside is being abandoned by the young people who flock to the cities, and things are somewhat bleak for the older generations, as I was told. BTW, the larger-Tokyo area accounts for about a third of Japan's entire population. You get the idea.

You can spend a few coins at the temples or you can spend a few bills in all of the stores that line the streets. This economy must be driven by consumer spending. It starts out with all those vending machines that you find everywhere. I didn't keep a tally of what you can buy, but drinks and food items are by far at the top of the chain. Similarly, you can order the food from a restaurant from the sidewalk where there's a panel to order and pay for your meal. It's a bit like those self-service kiosks in our McDonalds restaurants. Speaking of: They have several special burger versions for the local market.

The stores that really attracted me were the Capsule Toy Stores, locally called the onamopoeic gashapon, where people sink yen after yen into the act of turning a handle to release a small plastic capsule that contains a surprise piece of kitsch; similarly, they will use a joystick to manipulate a grabber to release whatever treasurer is behind the glass. It could be a plastic toy, a plushy, even a food item such as crackers or dry ramen. It's totally insane! I went through these stores (and couldn't avoid seeing the machines installed on the sidewalks) and could not believe how absolutely addicted Japanese people are to these things. Of course, both Singapore and Hong Kong also had these stores with "crab cranes" and the like, resembling a modern version of what as young kids we fell for at the fair where we threw ping-pong balls or metal rings to "win" a totally useless and worthless (actually, pricey) piece of junk.

Ah, I said worthless. Well, it appears that there is a vast economic value of billions of dollars to these trinkets, especially the plushies, little furry things similar to what existed in the US back in the 1990s under the Ty label, if I'm not all mistaken. Beanie Babies ring a bell? It turns out, somebody rediscovered the market and turned it into a bottomless industry, especially in the Asian markets. Hang one of those things from your purse and you make a statement, you're now part of a tribe. The phenomenon is not just limited to young women (pre-and post-pubescent) but the same age of guys, too. 

Enough of this trivial stuff and let's get to the real culture, at least that of the remaining 25% of the population. Tokyo is not just shopping. I was surprised by the large number of temples, large and small, that you can find in all neighborhoods. And why not? Until less than 200 years ago, the shogun ruled the land and Tokyo was not a metropolis-gone-amuck of 40 million. The old neighborhoods still exist, in their own way. Yes, there are small houses, really small ones, among those developments with dozens of stories.

In these neighborhoods you find quiet. No traffic. Somebody on a bike will ride by (lots and lots of eBikes), and somebody takes out the trash. Private cars (just like all those taxis sparkling clean and polished) are parked in car ports that are too short for today's automobiles. There are a few plants in pots on the street, just like in the Mittlerer Graben in Freising where people don't have a private garden. Some of the houses have laundry drying on a tiny balcony. It all looks peaceful and crime free, even though the bikes are all locked up and the gates are shuttered. After pounding the streets for a while you realize that there is not a single stray cat in Tokyo, birds don't exist outside of large parks (usually in the form of pigeon), and dogs are tethered in large bundles to professional walkers. They all are small, the dogs.

Go into the temple areas and be wowed by the simplicity and spirituality that surround you. There's an openness for those who may not subscribe to just one particular leader/god/prophet or whatever it is you want to call it. As a well-established atheist I visit temples/churches/mosques with a curious eye but without real reverence for whoever/whatever is being venerated. Reading up a little bit on the fundamentals of the most predominant Japanese religion I found out that there isn't one! Hurrah for the Japanese! So we play a bit by the Buddhist book, but we also make sure to not forget Shintoism, and if along the way we're leaving someone out, well, there are always a few extra minor deities one can call on. Forget the punitive dogma of Catholics or Baptists. Live, and let live. Have I been Japanese all my life long without knowing it?

I felt comfortable in the cemeteries. Maybe it's because I turned 70 (to come back to the overall theme of this trip), but more likely the burial places I visited spoke to values that I can connect with: have a family grave site, and then add extra info about deceased relatives to celebrate them. It's so simple, but we don't use anything like this in our rituals. The idea of having the entire clan together in the same place makes sense (and we find this also in western cemeteries), especially when space is at a premium. You can leave offerings as you may please. But then there are those wooden planks, inscribed with tales of those who died, a bit of a generational footnote that will weather and vanish with time, while the family name endures. Isn't that beautiful?

Thanks to the internet I learned a few interesting facts about the temples. For example, those vermillion (red) colored arches that one finds in most of them are called torii, and they work as boundary markers between our everyday lives and the sacred space on the other side of the tunnel. Every temple will have a set of komainu, those bulldog-like-looking seated lions, often adorned with red bibs that visitors have installed as an offering. The komainu ward off any evil spirits that might otherwise harm the kami, the deities who live in the temples. There's much other symbolism, such as the inari (foxlike creatures that are the messengers of Inari, who is the deity of prosperity and harvest); omikuji (the fortune slips that tell you about your future; if you draw bad luck, you can always tie the omikuji slips to a rope to leave them behind and try for better luck next time); and the shimenawa (sacred ropes that point out where the kami live).

Since my own religion is to a large part based on the tradition of Ninkasi, the divine brewmeister of the Sumerians, I did research in that direction as well. Tokyo has dozens of excellent microbreweries, and there are a bunch of taprooms, way more than I could expect to visit. (I think I ended up in eight of them altogether.) Some of the breweries were so new that they hadn't even had time to brew any of their own beer, and others had just a few styles and had guest taps to complete their offerings. Not that Asahi is a microbrewery, but I just had to visit their dedicated taproom, the Asahi Sky Room, on the 22nd floor of the company headquarters. The view from up there over the city was breathtaking, and since the stout they poured was quite enjoyable I stuck around for a refill.

At the Tokyo Beer Lab, a tiny microbrewery in a quiet side street just steps away from the super-busy Shibuya-ku district, I had my aforementioned long conversation with Andrew (barkeeper), an American from Brooklyn who with his Japanese wife has been living for the past four years in Tokyo, and Luigi (owner), a Japanese national whose first name was quite likely the result of his marriage to an Italian woman. It was a slow afternoon, and the wild-bearded Andrew told me about his experiences in Japan while Luigi talked more about the business side. I had similar, less in-depth, conversations at the Beer Bomb, Pherment Brewing, and Nihonbashi, once again proving that a beer joint is more than just a drinking establishment.

Where there is drink, food cannot be too far away. Quite frankly, after a generous buffet breakfast in the DoubleTree I never felt the need for food until mid-afternoon, at the earliest. My favorites were the small restaurants where you sit down, are either given a tablet or scan a QR code, and then order directly. Essentially, you stare at a wood partition in front of you and wait for the food to arrive, and then you just dig in without much regard for those setting next to you. Most of what I ate was sushi, because dang, it is sooo good! I didn't exactly keep up with what I spent as I used my German debit card for all transactions; the names of the merchants on my statement don't make much sense, but I'd guess that I spent between $18 to $26 for a meal, depending on how much sake I had (I couldn't bring myself to drinking Sapporo Premium or Asahi Super Dry, close relatives of Miller Light and other non-beers). As an aside, a pint of craft beer regularly cost a whopping $8 to $14.

You won't go hungry in Tokyo as there are eateries everywhere. One morning I walked around the (tourist) fish market (the wholesale market is in a different location, and tourists are kept at a distance) and simply looked at all the offerings. Urchin, salmon eggs, barbecued abalone, wagyu and Kobe beef skewers, king crabs, and everything in between were on offer, some of it at really high prices (or so I thought). Those four abalone were fetching $64, and a 100 gram portion of the sea urchin was going to set you back a little more than $100. One big wagyu kebab was also ¥10,000, or $64.

The body processes food and drink in mysterious ways, but we all know the out-come, and who better to take care of toilets than the Japanese! Seriously, that country must be the most obsessed when it comes to the lowly crapper! And that's a nice thing, because you find a free, clean toilet anywhere you go. Be it in the metro, a shopping mall, the parks, or anywhere else, a TOTO-equipped restroom is never far away. Quite a number of them even feature the heated TOTO bidets, yes, the "washlets" with complicated controls for a warm rinse and gentle blow-dry after doing your business. For guys, going to a public toilet is generally not a big thing because only a number 2 will require our physically touching a surface that belongs to the private domain. Now put yourself into the shoes, or panties, of a woman. You get the idea.  Japan has a clean toilet fetish, and their obsession is a wonderful gift to mankind. And for those still unclear on the individual toilet style's use, there are lots of instructions.

I could go on and on. While the Imperial Palace compound was a bit of a letdown (you can't get inside the palace itself unless you score one of those 30-minute guided tours), "Music Road" is a must-see for any music lover, regardless of whether you play an instrument or not. Shop after shop with exquisite instruments invites passersby to have a peek. Watching schoolchildren in their uniforms walking or taking the metro home is always a treat! The nightlife, the people watching, the first blossoms on some trees—it was almost too much.

Alas, all good things come to an end, eventually. On Friday morning I left the DoubleTree and took the monorail to Haneda airport. I had several hours until my AA flight to LAX and made the best of my time by visiting the Japan Airlines First Class lounge, which offers an à la carte sushi menu and fine Japanese and international wines and spirits. I wished for leather shoes since in one of the separate drawing rooms a shoe shine attendant was doing his magic while one could lounge in one of the deep leather chairs. Oh, the luxury.

Our 787 left on time, and nine hours later we arrived in LAX. A shower in the Flagship lounge, a short flight to Phoenix, and then the final hop to Lubbock—and after three-and-a-half weeks my 70th Birthday World Tour had come to its conclusion.

Jürgen