After finishing a game of FIFA against a work colleague, I received this message from him: "Good game. Let's play again soon."
I replied: "Cheers. Actually, I'm going to be offline for a while, I'm moving to Tokyo."
After sending that message, I realised how ridiculous it sounded. Moving to Tokyo is a concept so ludicrous that it was used to write the kooky character off Girls.
Fast forward a few days, and I was on a plane descending into Narita Airport.
I had a lot of emotions running through me, but my overriding thought was: "I've got a lot of shit to do."
The company I work for required me to complete three objectives before I could start:
1. Obtain a Japanese mobile
2. Register at the local ward office
3. Open a local bank account
On top of that, I needed to go to the estate agents to move into my new room. I had to do all these things by Friday 15th; I arrived at noon Tuesday 12th.
I left the Arrivals lobby and retraced my steps from my holiday last year. I stayed at the same hotel as before, not because I was enamoured with the service, but simply because I knew how to get there. The only deviation was that I got out of the right train station. The moment I emerged out of Ochanomizu Station was when deja-vu smacked me. The only place I've been back to multiple times is my home in London, so to have this feeling thousands of miles away was very surreal. By the time I got back into the hotel (not the same room but the same layout), I hadn't slept in 24 hours, but dammit, I had work to do.
I strolled around Akihabara, admiring the various new anime and gaming billboards. However, my trip around wasn't just to gawp at the SEGA Arcade; I needed to buy a SIM card from Odabashi Camera – a massive 9-floor shop.
My sleep-addled body stumbled around the mobile section; I made two loops around the floor before I found the SIM corner. I shuffled through the packs of cards on display before I finally found it nestled in the back, the b-mobile Unlimited Data SIM.
The SIM card provides unlimited data for only 5000yen a month with one downside; it's a data-only SIM, so no calls or texts. I purchased a Japanese Skype number to get around this, which means I can phone anyone as long as I got an internet connection (smug face emoji).
After a night of Japanese TV and SIM installing, I promptly awoke early the next day and chugged my bags to the estate agents in Shinjuku.
The name of the agent is Sakura House; they deal exclusively with foreigners in Japan. When I went over, the mood was hush. The company's Facebook page had led me to believe that the Sakura House office was rocking 24/7. I couldn't believe that someone would exaggerate on Facebook. I signed all the contracts and went on my way.
I live in an area called Uguisuidani, famed for its wide selection of Love Hotels. If Hotel Platinum isn't your thing, then Hotel Joy next door may be what you are looking for.
Lifting my luggage up the stairs made me grateful that I only lived on the 2nd floor. I threw my bags into my room and laid on my new surprisingly plush bed. I sprung up after ten minutes because now it was time to register my address at the local ward office. This is a requirement for all long term residents. I chose to walk the twenty minutes to Taito Office. Even though scenic Ueno Park is close by, all I learned from my trek is that you're never two minutes away from a convenience store in Tokyo. My initial fears that I wouldn't find the building were availed when I noticed it a mile away.
Once inside, I scanned around for any hints written in English that could help me find out where to go in this massive labyrinth. Finally, I conceded defeat; I had to use what I had been too shy to utilise: my undeniable charm.
Also, my broken Japanese.
The first couple of exchanges were conducted by the art of gesturing; the old man at the counter pointed at the form, "Namae!" he said.
"Yes!" I thought. "I know that word!" ("Namae" means name if you hadn't figured it out).
Next, a suited man looked over my files; I handed him my resident card. He looked at the front. "Kino kimashita?" he asked. I replied with a confused "Hmm?" He shook his head as if to say, "never mind." It took me a few moments to realise he asked: "Did you arrive yesterday?" That was in Volume 1 of my Japanese textbook! Following some scanning and stamping, the man took my resident card so he could imprint my new address. As he got up from his chair, I stammered out
"Do…Donogurai? (How long will it be?)." His eyebrows arched, he turned back. I wondered: "Did I say it right? Please don't make me repeat myself." he outstretched two fingers and said.
"Nijuppun. (Twenty minutes)". Never has a council visit been so tense.
As I left, I noticed another foreign man who brought a Japanese friend to translate. Bah, amateur.
The last part was the most simple, opening a bank account. I was recommended Shinsei Bank. I choose to visit a branch where there were English speaking staff. Once I walked into the door, I stumbled out the phrase "Ginko akemasu" (literally means "bank open."). I motioned opening a book with my hands to illustrate the point further. The receptionist, noticing my caveman ways, spoke back in perfect English, "Please take a seat; someone will see you shortly." I dealt with another English speaking staff member to open my account.
I finished all the tasks set out to me and with a day to spare. As I headed back to my seedy town, the thought of spending my first weekend alone in Tokyo felt like a let-down. My housemates were not what I imagined (more on that later), and I wouldn't meet my co-workers until Monday. This was unlike America and China, where I was a part of a big group of newcomers. If I wanted to meet people, I had to be proactive.
I recalled an e-mail I got from Sakura House detailing a list of events for the month. Amid events such as flower watching and walking tours, I saw that there was a New Year's party on Friday. I usually turn down events such as these, thinking that organised fun is beneath me. Also, the thought of being at a party and not knowing anyone is more terrifying than explaining True Detective Season 2. Nevertheless, I e-mailed Sakura House telling them I'll be there.
I arrived at the venue the next day at 6 pm on the dot, thinking that everyone would be as punctual as me. Clearly, I had forgotten Rule 1 of a party: Never Be Early. I walked into the lobby of the Sakura Hotel lobby, nary a soul in sight. I approached the clerk behind the clerk. "Pa…Party…?" I asked.
"Sure!" the clerk exclaimed; I then handed him the 500yen entry fee that got me a free drink and snacks.
"Oh, me too!" said a blonde-haired woman directly behind me. A few moments later, a man with a hoodie and frazzled hair showed up; this party is rocking! He wrote his name on his sticker; the woman exclaimed, "Ah! Are you Italian too?" This party sucks.
As the two conversed at length in their native tongue, a man with an Oklahoma hoodie strolled in. My kind of guy. I spoke with him at length about Oculus and how VR will be the end of mankind. While we were chatting, the room filled.
I met a plethora of people from all over the globe, but the most interesting was this tall goateed Japanese man. I asked him what he did. He replied: "Cage Fighter."
I'm a big mixed martial arts fan, so I pried more. "I fought in Sengoku once," he answered. Sengoku was one of the biggest companies in Japan. I couldn't hide my glee that I was meeting a professional MMA fighter. "But I lost," said the tall MMA guy. "I don't fight anymore."
Everybody started filing out shockingly early; I inquired as to why. It was here that I learned that Tokyo's trains close at around midnight. Night buses are non-existent, and taxis prices are so ludicrously high that most people opt to sleep in the station and catch the first train back then catching a cab.
The ex-fighter was loitering around outside; we started talking about China. "Oh, I fought in Macau," he said. "I lost." (I looked up his MMA record later on, it wasn't pretty).
As I got on the overly-packed train, I felt upbeat about Japan and my time here.
Next time, I will go over my antisocial neighbours, meetups and the Choco Potato.
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| Bonus Sanji pic |
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