Flying to Tokyo is an eleven-hour daydream that pushes your clock seventeen hours ahead. The plane was less than
half-full, so the flight was perfectly tolerable. I studied a history of Tokyo neighborhoods, enjoyed great Singapore
Airline food and slept comfortably, stretched across three seats.
I wondered what I would find when I touched down after dusk in a country where I didn’t read or speak
the only language I was told the Japanese really understand...besides kindness.
This was my first trip to another country.
I hoped to sprint through customs and catch the last punctual-but-hourly Narita Express
into Shinagawa, the busiest train stations in Tokyo, where I would need transfer
to Shibuya on a busy weeknight. I expected a bit of wandering with my bags in
the chill Autumn air, through a city of some 12 millions, which identifies its avenues,
but not its streets. It doesn’t seem to number buildings at all.