Dearest Rachel –
They tell me that to take a cab out from Yokohama to downtown Tokyo would run me some ten thousand yen; I say stuff that noise. I consider the public transportation system to be its own adventure (especially in a place like this, where it’s safe in a way that I can’t say about the systems at home), so I’m going to take it to get back out there, if I can.
It takes a little doing, and it’s harder to find my way around when it’s dark, but I make it to the Nihon Odori station, and purchase a transfer ticket. Apparently, I can only buy for one way; roundtrips are not available at the moment. I also have to make sure I’m getting on the one transferring to the Toyoku Line, as I might find myself somewhere else in Yokohama if I’m not careful – I think.
However, it seems that just about every train going from Yokohama head through to Shibuya, at the very least, so I hop onto an express – which to be fair, only skips every other stop or so – and hope for the best. I feel like I should be taking pictures of the scenery as we go by – at least, when we’re above ground – but there’s really not that much to see, now that it’s dark outside.
And, to be fair, I am starting to feel like I’m getting accustomed to the whole process; the trip isn’t boring or routine, as such, but when everyone else treats it that way, burying their nose into their phone and whatnot, it’s hard not to follow suit. Then again, what am I expecting them to do? Break into a song-and-dance number? Try to hold a conversation with me, a complete foreigner? Yeah, best to make myself as inconspicuous as everyone else is doing.
While I’m doing this, I check to see what connections there are to Shinjuku (and thereby, Kabuki-cho). I’m almost dismayed to discover my best chance to get there is via the Yamanote Line again – albeit going in the opposite direction.
It’s almost impossible to film while riding the Yamanote this time; it’s so crowded that even reaching for the camera means hitting someone, so I don’t bother until I’m off the train. And even then, the Shinjuku station is so long and labrynthine that if I focus for too long on the camera, I might miss the spot where I’m supposed to exit for the surface. The good news, I suppose is that that particular moment doesn’t come for a long time, but that’s also somewhat bad news, too. At this point it’s past 8:30; it’s hardly wise to eat after this point.
Not that it’s the restaurants of Kabuki-cho that call out once I finally get there. First of all, there is the light show that is the entire place, including a video screen that curves around a building, giving the illusion of a three-dimensional space being projected, but also the neon and other lights emanating from seemingly every storefront (unlike during the day, when the shops are open and the bars and restaurants are closed, the situation is reversed, so not everything is pouring light from its doors). If Tokyo is analogous to New York City, this is Times Square, easily.
But as I progress through the streets and alleys along the way, I realize that I’m not in a place where I ought to be. “This de red light district, boyo,” some tout speaks into my ear. “Whatchoo want? Beer? Drinks? Girls? A massage?” I’ve been here before, a long time ago and a thousand miles or so away from this place. I may not have you at my arm, honey, but I’m not so free and unfettered that I would be susceptible to his blandishments. And to be honest, I’m not sure what bothers me more about it – whether it’s so much what he’s offering, which ought to be enough, or the aggressive hard sell he works on me as I walk along, occasionally answering him back in French negatives (which worked on a different tout, back in the day) before he stops and lets me continue along my way. For all I know, he may have heard me talk into the camera afterwards, irritated to discover that I actually did understand him. But I really resent that kind of approach – I think to a greater degree than what he was trying to tempt me with, I’m sorry to say.
In either case, though, it’s time to surrender, and return home. I’ve seen the place, and taken it in; indeed, I’ve been rather overwhelmed by it all, to the point where I’m not feeling like I’m able to indulge in the more innocuous act of getting a meal from somewhere. At the same time, I take some comfort in the fact that I didn’t just call it a night when I got back from the tour; I got out there and saw all this. So I may have wasted my time, and a few hundred yen (albeit not the thousands I would have if I’d taken a cab), but what is the experience worth?
Of course, there’s still one more experience for me to deal with; that of casing the length and breadth of the terminal multiple times over, trying to find a point of ingress somewhere. They can’t have locked us all out of the ship for the night, can they? Even from the rooftop observation platform, we can see the second deck hatch open and a gangway from the pavement going in there… but how do we get there from here?
Yeah, I (and the other couples who were calling out to the staffers from the rooftop) had to head down from the terminal and head to pretty much the end of the pier, at which point we count finally pass through the gate and walk all the way back to get onto the ship. Between the day and the night, would you believe I walked twenty-seven thousand steps? It’s no marathon, but it’s a lot of ground covered, as far as I’m concerned.
Anyway, I need to get on with my next set of stories at this point, honey. So keep an eye on me, and wish me luck. I’m going to need it.
Letters to Rachel 