TOKYO

By some lovely twist of fate, I ended up in executive class on my way to Tokyo, probably because economy class was full, and found myself being asked “Orange juice or champagne?” before I even took my seat – next to a rather cute fellow.

It’s true what they say – life is better in first class. No one fussing at us to put our bags overhead, cinch our seat belts, or any of that. A couple people had bags at their feet – did the flight attendants tell them they needed to put those bags away? No, sir.

Extensive leg room, roomy, armchair-like seats, plushy blankets and pillows for each seat, personal TV sets, real cloth tablecloths and napkins, a MENU, for chrissakes – god, I could go on and on. It pays to be rich!

And the nice looking fellow next to me? Turned out to be a Japanese-Canadian hockey player for a corporate Japanese hockey team. Who played for the Japanese team in the 1994 winter Olympics at Nagano.

Ah, the perks of first class.

1:15 pm: offered champagne or OJ (I take the champagne, natch)
1:20 pm: unprompted but trained by years of economy class, I put my bags overhead.
1:25 pm: we take off, and even the sound of the engines seems more muffled in first class
1:35 pm: I take out my laptop to write up the promised sketch of Denali adventures, and the fellow next to me asks me a question about my Mac
1:45 pm: I learn he’s a hockey player
2 pm: Hockey Man shows me how to work the personal TV
2:15 pm: trying unsuccessfully to play a video game on the personal TV. The controller appears to be somewhat broken.
2:30 pm: a flight attendant comes out with blue table cloths
2:40 pm: I watch Will and Grace
2:45 pm: hor d’oeuvres – lox and shrimp
3:15 pm: I watch CSI over salmon and a glass of Australian Malbec
4:15 pm: I listen to Kelly Clarkson’s latest album
6 pm: I catch up on blog entries
7 pm: I watch "Sahara" (Matthew McConaughey is annoying, Steve Zahn is adorable)
8 pm: I get served dinner (mushroom ravioli)
9 pm: I start watching "Ice Princess" (Michelle Trachtenberg is actually pretty winning; I guess it was just her character on Buffy that was annoying)

Hockey Man asked how I was getting to Shinagawa station, and when I said I didn’t know, mentioned that he usually took the airport limo. “D’you mind if I tag along?” I asked. “No, of course not.

I hustled out of the plane, leaving my fleece behind accidentally (shoot – just bought that fleece too. But at $20 a pop, I can go buy another). I half thought Hockey Man would ditch me, but no, he was at baggage claim and we got the bus tickets together for a bus leaving immediately. Yay!

Because Hockey Man had been in a hurry to get this bus, I didn’t call Maiko or even get cash at the airport – I just went to the limo counter, got my tickets, and ran to the bus (catching Hockey Man’s foot in the back as I sped into his – oops! Sorry, Hockey Man! I hope I didn’t cause you any, like, injuries).

I was sure I could find someone to lend me their phone, and sure enough, on the bus, there’s a nice Japanese woman with a pink phone who lets me use her phone.

I can’t get through. All I get is “This is a Vodaphone. [Blah blah blah Japanese language].”

I try her home phone. It rings and then beeps as if it were a fax machine.

This happens three times. The nice Japanese woman says, concerned, “Does your friend know you are coming today?” She says that I can use her phone a little later to call again.

Hockey Man reassures me, “Your friend is probably out shopping or something.”

About 45 minutes later, I try Maiko again. Same deal: no answer on either cell or phone.

The nice Japanese woman asks again: “And you’re sure she knows you are coming today?” I tell her yes. She asks where I’m getting off the bus. I say, “The Prince Hotel,” where Hockey Man is getting off (he assures me that it’s right across the street from Shinagawa Station, and that’s where he stops, so I figure I may as well). “Are you staying there?” asks that nice woman. “No,” I say, “I’m supposed to stay with my friend.” She smiles worriedly. “You can use my phone again a little later,” she offers.

A little later, the same thing happens. “Are you getting worried yet?” Hockey Man kids me.

“Just a wee bit,” I reply, smiling. I AM starting to worry, in fact. I don’t have an address for Maiko, just her numbers. What if I wrote them down wrong? I didn’t send her my flight info, only my arrival time, so she can’t even check to see if I’ve come in on time. Shit.

Nice Japanese Lady gets off the bus one stop before me, wishing me good luck. I get off the bus with Hockey Man at the Prince Hotel, where he bids me good luck as well. I thank him for his kindness. Thinking ahead to Monday, when I have all day free, I decide, what the hell, and ask: “Hey, what are you doing Monday? I’d like to at least buy you a coffee for your trouble.”

“Oh, that’s okay,” he replies. “Are you sure?” I ask. “Because I have all day free on Monday…”

“It was really no trouble at all. But hey,” he said, suddenly remembering his manners, “take my number and if you can’t get in touch with your friend, give me a call. I have practice in the afternoon on Monday, but maybe in the evening…”

Well, I don’t want to leave you in suspense, so – sorry, hockey, hk, and romance fans, but nothing came of this exchange. I spent Monday cleaning up Maiko’s very crowded studio apartment and rearranging some of her furniture for her, and didn’t make it into Tokyo until around 4 pm. I did leave a message in the afternoon for Hockey Man, when I was pretty sure he wasn’t there, thanking him and leaving my email address, in case he’s ever in Crimson City. I think that whole thing qualifies somewhat as asking someone out. In any case, it took a fair bit of balls for me. I learned subsequently that he plays for one of the bigger corporate teams of Japan, so the whole thing was pretty cool, regardless.

I tried calling Maiko again, unsuccessfully, from the Prince Hotel, where I begged the hotel staff to call for me. So, with no other option, I decided to just go to our meetingn spot and see if she was there. Around 5:40 pm, I found what I thought was the place Maiko had described to me over IM a couple days ago: a big clock in front of the exit for the station. So I plopped my bag there and waited. Nervously. Since I couldn’t get in touch with her, I didn’t know how she would know the right time to get to Shinagawa (her place being about an hour away by subway). Would she wait until I called her? Would she just head out? Maybe I should check my email and see if I had the right number for her. But did I even have her number written down in my Yahoo address book? And where could I get email access anyway? I didn’t even have cash.

To top it all off, it was about 31 degrees Celcius, with impossibly high humidity, and I was melting in my jeans. Shvitzing like crazy, I waited.

6:10 pm: “Herren!!!!”

Thank god.

We never could figure out why my phone calls didn’t go through.

The next 48 hours were pretty self-indulgent: chatting over beers Saturday night, lounging around watching TV Sunday morning, going out to lunch with Maiko’s mom (so cute, I love her) Sunday afternoon, going to the 100-yen store (like our dollar store) with Maiko and her mom and buying 10 handkerchiefs all for me (last year I gave them all away), going out with Maiko and her sort-of boyfriend (personally, I think they will get married, but one doesn’t talk of things that way in Japan) for dinner and sake/beer on Sunday night (until 1 am). On Monday, I rearranged some furniture and straightened up Maiko’s tiny studio apartment. I hope the arrangement is okay with her. I probably overstepped my boundaries as a guest – for an average Japanese person, I know I did – but Maiko’s not the typical Japanese chica. I could just tell that she was feeling overwhelmed by the mess, and she did jokingly say, “Please clean this mess up for me!” the other night, so… Well, it’s done, anyway.

Maiko was at work on Monday, so I took myself to her office and then the airport. It’s a bit of a trial, actually, since she lives in Yokohama. I drove myself to the train station on her scooter (a little 55-cc thing that I instantly adored – that I am in love with scooters is totally The Ringleted One’s fault). On the train, I indulged in some people-watching. I was sitting next to a girl whose skirt was the same color as mine – red, black and white. Mine is black cotton with thin red and white stripes. Her was white lace over red lace over black lace. She also sported black fingernail polish with very carefully done red rhinestones on each nail. She rocked.

Across from me, three women epitomized the range of styles you can see in Tokyo. On the left, the chic, sexy look: silver laces wound around the ankles, on top of straw wedges, matching the silver accents on the split sides of white capris. In the middle, the funky look: black converse hi-tops with red plaid accents, a camouflage jacket, hair done up in a high knot with a green jewel and bangs swept aside with rhinestone pin, accented by a cloth bracelet featuring Paul Frank monkey faces. And to the right, the respectable wife and mother: a black dress down past the knees with a green plaisley print, a white short-sleeved sweater, a cross at her neck, and hair demurely bobbed.

I don’t think I could ever tire of people-watching in Tokyo. Every woman, from the goth chick to my right, to the demure wife, takes so much care with her appearance when she goes out. It’s never just jeans and a t-shirt here.

I put my 25-pound bag in a locker at Shinagawa station – oooo, but I have a story about that. I had stuffed my bag in the locker, and was hunting for 300 yen to put in amongst the scant 600 yen I had left (one bad thing about the maybe-fiance: he totally didn’t pay anything for dinner or drinks! I insisted on paying for dinner, but Maiko and I shelled out the equivalent of $60 or so for the drinks). I realized I didn’t have any 100-yen coins, just a 500-yen one. So I must have been looking pretty forlorn, because an elderly woman next to me smiled at me kindly, spoke something to me, and showed me a handful of coins. She dug through those and then in her back pocket to trade me five 100-yen coins for my one 500-yen coin. “Arigato,” I cried out gratefully, and bowed. She didn’t seem to have any more coins, though, so I waited to see if she could find more 100-yen coins for herself. She had to open and dig through another change purse to find the coins she needed for her locker, when she noticed I was waiting. I asked in English, “Do you have enough for yourself?” “Dai jo bu,” she replied, smiling oh so kindly. That being one of the five phrases I know (it means, “it’s all right”), I smiled, bowed again, and departed.

I found my way to Maiko’s workplace, and bid her farewell, and then I was on my way to Seoul. Seoul!