We approached Narita through an unbelievable magenta sunset. It fired the clouds
to infinity. The sun looked so much like the burner on an electric stove.
I was very surprised to find Japan’s international airport sitting very quietly in a tidy
expanse of small hills and forests and cultivated plots. The roads seemed to be
two-lanes. The buildings, modest. My first naive impression of Japan proved later
to be fairly correct: a peaceful world, ordered by ancient consensus.
Flights are timed to meet a train, fitting into a schedule that knits the life of all
modern Japan, from the sprawling cities to the tiniest trackside villages.
Here was my first challenge, probably the most important one—to negotiate
every step to Shibuya with confidence and efficiency, and establish a momentum,
at best a synchronization, with the heartbeat of the people I hoped to meet.