Let the adventure begin

Dispatches from Japan, Part 1

I landed in Tokyo earlier this week feeling unusually rested. Perhaps it’s because an 11-hour flight with only one layover feels short. It might be that the immigration process is quite efficient compared to that of Nairobi, which can be so awful people decide never to visit again. The row to myself and opting to skip the Xanax to get through my nightmare inbox definitely helped. 

I hit the ground running, which surprises no one. With only a few days in the city, before we had to pick our way through the spaces between the thousands of humans inside Tokyo Station to arrive at our current location, I had to make the most of my city time. 

It’s not unreasonable to dedicate half your day to finding the best conveyor belt sushi. It’s a five-minute walk from Shibuya Crossing, in case you’re wondering.

Eating, in general, takes on a life of its own as you search for the tempura, sushi, ramen, and soba you’ll summon every time you bite into that Wednesday night special. Just like the toilets in Japan, you know so many things that you were perfectly content with at home are now ruined.

Popping into Lawson’s turns into a ritual that contributes to your bad habits, like drinking a lemon sour any hour of the day. It’s not that you can’t buy a can of bubbly lemonade spiked with vodka in the States, it’s that you can’t buy one for under $2 that makes you feel like you know something that everyone else doesn’t. No one is leaving a 7-Eleven in the US with a day drink in their hand feeling good about themselves. 

Then there is my favorite bike shop, Blue Lug, that makes me feel like everything in the world is right. It exists for the love of bikes, the perfect angles created with welded steel, painted in Easter candy shell colors. It’s not the language barrier that makes you feel like you’re in a different world. It’s the shop boys. They’re genuinely excited to see you excited about bikes, which is a novel experience. I wish I could export that alongside all of the cute little bike bags and bike bells that I picked up for the shop. 

Technically I’m here for business, so there are business dinners. Followed by business beers at the oldest beer hall in the city. It survived the war, and the tile up and down the columns and mosaic artwork and architecture holds stories that I wish I was there to hear. 

I started to write this once we settled into the 170mph Shinkansen. I’m outside of my routine, so it feels more difficult than usual. The 17-hour time change, hosting seven guests, navigating a new-ish city, not sleeping well because my brain still knows it’s 2:17 am and it has work for me to do…

We arrive in Nagano, and Nick, the Aussie who owns the guiding company we’re working with, who also believes that all you need in life is enough, explains that it’s raining to the top of the mountain. The next two days of skiing aren’t going to include that pristine powder that people travel halfway across the world for.

At least there is omakase and onsen to tie us over as we wait for the trip to become the one that we planned for. As they say, the best laid plans of mice and men often go awry. This trip wasn’t what I thought it would be, and navigating that is an adventure in and of itself.