Oh God you know I can't do maps, even in English

Finishing up at school was hectic.  Lots of family, lots of parties, lots of packing, lots of nerves, lots of emotions. It's hard to say bye to the people you've lived down the hall from knowing that actually seeing them again is going to take a hell of a lot more follow-through than a quick call or knock.  It was a rollercoaster ride that didn't come with full nights of sleep, and so I got onto the plane coasting on about four hours a night for a week.  I'm not usually good at that, but the upside was that I crashed hard on the plane.

I was en route to my family in Korea, but had a night alone in Tokyo first.  In my hurry I thought I had lost my digital camera, so the plan was to go to the electronics district Akihabara to buy a new one, and then to go out clubbing.  It was easy enough to get out of the airport--most people there gave directions in English and an hour and a half and two subway lines later I was in the electronics district of Tokyo.  The area grew up after WWII, when the Japanese government had excess spare parts which students bought and turned into radios, which they sold.  Eventually it became a bustling, buy-any-electronics-here kind of place.

So I was snorting fire for a while...

I got my camera--nothing special because the difference between simple and bulky and slim and sleek was a lot of beer--and I love beer--and asked the people there for a dinner recommendation. The recommended Ginzo Sushi--a packed sushi place under the train tracks where no one spoke English.  It was perfect.

I've never really been the kind of person who has a problem eating alone--I kind of like it sometimes, actually, though I did feel a little awkward sitting at the sushi bar between Japanese business men (it was almost all men) sporting healthy Asian glow already--while not knowing the langauge and also trying to sit normally with my pack wedged between my legs.  But the show in front of me--fish being sliced, wasabi being dabbed, sushi chefs yelling all sorst of things--and the draft beer next to me (Asahi Extra Dry...I think) made me feel almost at home.

No one spoke English.  The specials of the day were on wooden paddles, but I couldn't read them, so I managed to get a menu with pictures and pointed at a sushi plate which looked about right, with some help from a businessman next to me.  The Japanese are great.  Very helpful, I found, everytime I needed help, and very friendly, though reserved otherwise.  The first course I got was meat with cucumber and some sort of cheese that tasted more like butter than anything--sounds bad but it was great, and then a roasted peeled vegetable, smoky and soft, tasting like a kind of squash.  It all was great with the beer.

Then the sushi came.  At least six kinds of fish and three kinds of rolls.  It was fantastic.  The fish was not at all fishy...even the roe and urchin (which scared me at first...being brown and very slimy.)  There were some white fishes that were creamy, like nothing I've ever had before.  The wasabi was fresh--and I didn't realize they put wasabi between the fish and rice too, so I was snorting fire for a while, but in a good way.  I also got green tea with the meal--nothing like the weak stuff we get in the states, but a big, handleless, two-handed mug of hot stuff looking like a little bit of water and a lot of deep green pigment.  Perfect with the sushi.

I was tired by this point, and worried that the trains stopped running before the night clubs got going.  I have a friend who liked sleeping under a bridge when he went out, waiting until the trains began running again, but he also got kicked out of his host family for hitting on his host sister...so...so.

So, I tried to head back.  Cue panic attack.  I can't read a map in English--my Dad's been pushing me for years to learn but in an age of nav systems, mapquest, and google maps, I've never had to learn.  Well, I was screwed in Tokyo.  No one spoke English and Tokyo has twenty lines run by different companies.  None of the maps seem to line up.  I was way, way out of my comfort zone.  I bought a couple wrong tickets, but long story short, I made it.  All right.  So maybe I'll learn to navigate myself around.  It was a good experience in retrospect, but honestly (embarassingly?) really scary.

The plan was to sleep in the airport, and I bedded down on the third floor for ten minutes before the first cop came.  He told me to follow him downstairs--alright, I'll never get to Korea, sorry mom and dad, I've been arrested for vagrancy in the Japanese airport--but I guess you can sleep on the chairs on the first floor, if you have a passport and flight out.  Weird.  But in time I got sorted out and fell asleep for a solid, glorious, seven hours.  The first night of over a hundred.  What wonderful, terrifying thing had I gotten myself into?