Adventures in Banking Part the Second

We all know that Citibank is awful, right? I didn't need more proof myself, but they happily provided it. Suffice to say that even the lovely Citibank office down in Ginza couldn't help me turn my card on. They helpfully suggested that I could get a cash advance at any bank in Tokyo by providing two forms of ID with the card. Quite friendly. Entirely untrue, but friendly nonetheless. Another option they suggested was to mail me a card (dispite them having yet to prove they can mail anything to me over here) on which I could write down my favorite numbers, send back in to them and they would magically turn those numbers into a PIN for my card. They said that it would only take two weeks after they recieved the card back from me to get it activated. By which time I would no doubt be back in the US. Still, neat trick though.

Oh, and my bank card locked up on me too. I wonder where one goes to apply for a Japanese sugar mama?

If You Want Something Visual, That’s Not Too Abysmal

Just about every guide book you see about Japan seems to fall over itself to tell you that Japan is a country of contradictions. It’s become a cliché to be sure, and I think that it’s also become overstated. Yeah, there are a lot of different kinds of people in Japan, but to point Japan out as special in that way is to ignore that humans everywhere are different. Oooo Japan struggles with modernity while keeping traditions alive, give me a break. Nobody else anywhere does that?

Ok, I’ll concede that some of the contrasts are maybe more visable here, given the fundamental changes of the Meiji period and the post-war period. I’ll also admit that the contrasts are sometimes more apparent because space is so constrained – Japan ain’t that big, after all.

This was pretty much the theme of my trip to Harajuku last Sunday. See, Harajuku has a park where all the wanabe rock bands hang out and play. Well, that’s also where the beatboxers and breakdancers and drum groups play too. Oh, and the runners and the skaters – they hang out there too. And the guys who dress up like extras from Grease. They look like they’ve been there since Rock Around the Clock was topping the charts. But there are two other main draws to the area.

The one that’s definitely going to be in your guide book is only about a two or three minute walk from the doo-wop dudes. It’s the old Meiji Shrine. Like most pre-war buildings, everything was destroyed in the bombings, but it was rebuilt in the 50s. It’s grand and beautiful, set in the middle of a forested area that looks like it was basically let run wild. The Shinto penchant for purity and serenity is very much to be appreciated after the chaos of the Tokyo streets and subway.

I was there on a Sunday, too, which meant I got a chance to see part of a Shinto wedding ceremony. It was a wonderful procession, with the bride and groom and a few others in traditional dress, trailing members in tailed tuxes and alas, women mostly in pantsuits – only a few kimono. Photos over at flickr, you’ll forgive me for not capturing the pantsuits.

Nearby, there was a railing set up around a huge tree where you could post a board on which you had written your wishes. These were really interesting. In all sorts of languages, but mostly Japanese, Chinese, Korean and English, people wished for health, happiness, love, and even a ‘mo chill time in Japan.’ The one that struck me the most though, was the one that wished that the soldiers and sailors of both sides in the Great Pacific War may rest in peace. It struck me because not so very far away is another more famous Shinto shrine, Yasikuni, that houses the spirits to the Japanese war dead, including most notoriously, several war criminals. I’ve also already seen the right-wing propaganda trucks that tool around town with people giving speeches on top. I wish my Japanese were good enough to understand more of what they said. All I can hear is a lot of ‘fathers,’ ‘mothers,’ and ‘children.’ Perhaps it’s my overactive imagination, but that sounds like it would fit well with good old down-home xenophobic populism to me. The rise of nationalism in Asia is very disturbing to me, and I was very disappointed to have the reflection break into my bucolic reverie. I may write more on this later.

Leaving the shrine, I ran into the other most famous sight of Harujuku, the Cosplayers – ‘Cos’ for ’costume.’ They are also called Loli-goths – the ‘Loli’ is short for ‘Lolita.’ Wouldn’t Nabokov be proud? (I should say that I’m pretty sure they aren’t encouraging pedophilia. I’m fairly sure that Lolita has the same readership rate among the pre-college folk here that it does in the US - that is - next to nil.) I’m sure you can kind a wealth of information all over the web about these folk, and the couple of photos I’ve got might help, but briefly, imagine that the Rocky Horror Picture Show folks didn’t have a movie. Mix liberally with the Emo kids. Put them all in costumes made from the reimaginings of Gothic horror and Manga. Give them one day of celebration per week on Sunday where they can gather and seek the affirmation that they don’t get from their peers in school by allowing a horde of photographers to ask them politely if they might take their picture. I hope that doesn’t sound too harsh. As a former Rocky Horror Picture Show and drama geek, I imagine that, were I to grow up in Japan nowadays, I might be out there too. They generally seemed really happy, too, so maybe the Emo thing doesn’t fit. Perhaps a wondering Googler can enlighten me.

In any case, the costumes of the cosplayers and the do-wop guys along with the costumes of the wedding ceremony (both kimono and tuxedo) seemed to encourage a confirmation of the ‘Japan is a country of contradictions’ blather. I still don’t buy it. At least if you are going to claim that Japan is a country of more contradictions than other countries. Yeah, sure they’ve got east and west and past and present, but who doesn’t? Ever been to a renaissance festival in the US? Ever seen a clutch (gaggle?) of non-Asian folk at a Japanese anime screening at a US university? Ever seen photos of a Star Wars wedding? To me, it’s just another way of saying that Japanese folks are fundamentally different from others, and I really don’t think that serves anyone very well. To cover my ass, I don’t mean to say that there aren’t cultural differences and social issues unique to Japan, of course there are, and I’ll happily write about them, too. I guess I just got a bit miffed after looking at all the exotic–ized Japan in the guide books I’ve been looking at.

(Two notes - this evil cafe-computer wont let me edit the title, and the formatter has gone wonky. Gah! I:m in one of the most technologically advanced countries in the world and I can:t get online! Second -For the record, the Kiwi Kit Kat was pretty good. It also has the added advantage of being fun to say. Kiwi Kit Kat Kiwi Kit Kat Kiwi Kit Kat - come on! Try it! For the hard core Kit Kat Fan, take a look at this guys photostream)

And now we return you to your regularly scheduled blather:

One of the absolute best things about travelling is that you immediately become an expert. For example, now, I can say I’ve been to Japan. When I meet you at a conference or a party, or perhaps on a sidewalk somewhere in the bad side of town where I’ve taken up selling Chiklettes and collecting aluminum cans, (note to self: Selling Chick-lit might be more profitable. Look into garish pink paperback covers) I’ll be able to say, “I’ve been to Japan.” You, gob-smacked by my worldliness, will be forced to accept every following word as gospel. That is unless you’ve also been there, in which case I will ask you if you might be interested in a slightly worn but well-loved copy of Bridget Jones’ Diary.

At least this is how I’ve seen it work elsewhere. In my experience of living in unfamiliar cultures, there are a few phases. In the first few days, there is a general sense of being overwhelmed. It usually depends on your natural outlook as to whether this means that you are happily overwhelmed or unhappily so.

Example - See if you can figure out which of the following two travelers is being happily overwhelmed:

“It’s so cool we found this little restaurant – we’ll never be able to find our way back here. I can’t believe how delicious this bizarre dish is! I’m not even sure I know what’s in it! Was that a fruit or something? I’ve got to get the waiter to write its name down so I can get it again.”

“You damned people don’t know shit! I said light foam! And they call this a Starbucks!”

The most fun phase, however, follows after the overwhelmed phase. It generally lasts from the end of week one to up to a year or so (or more if the traveler is particularly dense). This is the expert phase. You may notice that people who have lived abroad for a very long period of time rarely call themselves experts about the land or culture in which they live. They have become wise and know it is foolish to attempt. Those just freshly out of the overwhelmed phase know not such wisdom. They have figured ‘those foreign people’ out. They are the ones who tell you where the ‘real’ or ‘authentic’ restaurants are and refuse to eat at lesser establishments. These are the people who roll their eyes at the tourists (they might do it twice if they think you didn’t see them the first time – it’s best to acknowledge the eye roll quickly, lest their eyerolling dislodge a contact)*

In the spirit of the expert phase, I mention that I have been in Japan for almost exactly one week. Gather around and I shall impart my expertise.

The Subway

Everything you’ve heard is true. Except that one thing. That was a misunderstanding. I swear it was all a misunderstanding. So, right. Almost everything you’ve heard is true. The Japanese subway is both a marvel and a monster.

I actually live on the border of Tokyo and Yokohama, so to get to my school, I travel about an hour by train/subway. So I’m an expert now.

The first day we tried out the subway, it was a weekend. Oh, we laughed. We transferred and missed trains and chatted in the cars. Ah, it was so long ago. I was so young and naïve. The subway is a different beast on the weekdays. On Monday, we boarded a 7:15ish car into downtown. Oh, for a muse of fire. The thing is that people apparently start getting on the subway in India at 10pm to get into Tokyo for a morning shift. That’s the only reason I can think of for the sheer mass of people. Like I said, I’m about an hour out of Tokyo, and when the train arrived at my station, it was already full. Now, I’m not saying that there weren’t any available seats –that’s a given at any time of day, as near as I can tell. I’m saying that there was no room for myself and the several others with me to get on the train. At all.

Luckily for us, we were at the front of the line to get on, and there were several hundred people behind us who I’m guessing missed the subway in Delhi, and were angry that they had to take a plane to get this far. In any case, they very helpfully shoved us in the backs hard and fast enough to prove conclusively that two solids can occupy the same physical space in the quantum subway car. So we did all get in, smashed together, trying to keep in one clump as the raging eddies of suit and tie threatened to whisk us off to who knows where. Finally the doors slid closed, shaving their way across the chest and face of the poor sap who was half-in half-out.

Then the real struggle began as it would pass every day for the rest of the week. Later I traveled by myself so I could get on the train earlier – that made it a little better, but not much, but it’s always the same. Once everyone gets their place, they need to arrange themselves. But of course nobody can move their body – only pieces, and only in small efforts. Legs shift out in hopeless attempts to lower centers of gravity. Hands stretch up to find that all the hand-holds were taken long ago. The truly amazing thing is that more people get on at every stop. There almost always seems to be a way for them to smash in.

As the train rumbles from station to station, the entire car of people pitch and sway together. Those lucky enough to hold straps or supports are silently tasked as the pillars of the crowd. The short or strapless have no recourse but to fall into the person next to them when the train jolts. It’s not really a fall though, more like a lean. Everyone is leaning on them too. It becomes a bit hypnotic after awhile. There’s the rhythmic light tap of the arm that’s bumping into your shoulder, the macro-view of the guy’s ear in front of you, and even the cool blast of conditioned air that does a nice job of blow-drying your hair. Many people close their eyes and some even nap. In general, no one speaks, no one even laughs nervously when shoved. There is something amazing about so much humanity everywhere around you. You are literally surrounded by people actively pressing against you, not in aggression, but simply as everyone is pressing and pressed. Personal space really doesn’t enter into it.

Finally, as the car gets past the first major stop that heralds Tokyo proper, there are people who leave. With a ‘’scuse me’ and a surprisingly forceful shove, someone from the middle of the train can cut through to the door in time and be spit out of the car before the doors close again. Eventually, a little room materializes.

First to appear from bags and pockets are the cell phones, then the video games and books. Then the newspapers. All without a sound. Everyone with the same expression, now texting away, or reading to themselves as if just five minutes ago they weren’t intimately connected, nose to neck and more. It’s a bit of an anticlimax at the end. You get out, and the mush of humanity rushes on.

There are a couple of rider-types that I’ll identify. In my capacity as expert, I am fully licensed to make broad generalizations and categorize people without remorse. You can make out a chart and bring it with you like you might on a birding trip.

Fauna of the Tokyo Subway:

Salaryman: These come in many shapes and sizes. Most often asleep for the entire trip but magically awake when it comes time to exit the train. When able, he (the female of the species is so-far undiscovered. More exploring is required) will expertly unroll a newspaper and fold it into a rectangle so that he can read it in the smallest area possible. Dark suit, white shirt, salt and pepper hair.

Salaryman –youth: Very similar to the standard Salaryman, but occasionally with more colorful plumage – still within the black to natural-brown range. The clothing will also occasionally be more colorful. A slightly less dark suit or a mildly pastel shirt is common. This version will often have a comic book rather than a newspaper. Do not be alarmed if this man’s comic book is covered with nearly nude women in bondage gear. Or completely nude women without bondage gear. Or perhaps with tentacles. While not entirely common, it has been witnessed by your guide more than once.

OL: A possible counter to the Salaryman is the ‘OL’ or ‘Office Lady.’ Your guide is not sure whether the name seems as slighting in Japanese as it seems to me in English, and isn’t entirely sure what position they hold in the cooperate structure, but in the subway, they are generally not elegant, but seem expensively dressed, and never seem to be over about 35. Perhaps it is a pre-marriage thing? Beware of pointy tall heels.

Students: the youth of the subway wear school uniforms during the week. Blue skirts and white blouses and sometimes sweaters (!?) for the women and blue slacks and white button-downs for the lads. As with any uniform, the key to differentiating the individuals is in the subtle details. The young lady out to make herself unique might load her cellphone down with 90kg of dangling cute things. The young man out to look like a boy-band version of a thug might unbutton his shirt down to his navel and show off his skeletal chest. Sek-say.

*The expert phasers are not to be confused with those ‘gone native’ who, although it is perhaps counterintuitive, are a subcategory of tourist even though they may live there for decades. They are actually categorized in this way only in order to piss them off. These people actually do everything they can to become a local and renounce their homeland. While patently absurd and absolutely impossible, it’s fun to watch them make fools of themselves. If American, they have a particular hatred for McDonald’s, Hollywood and often Coca-Cola, for example (it’s fun to point out the paradox that many locals truly enjoy a Coke at McDonald’s after a Hollywood blockbuster). They also very often identify themselves with a certain narrow cultural group of the local population, claiming that they and said group are more ‘local’ than most of those others actually born in the area. Examples range from the Pseudo-French Art Snob, the False-Mexican Teotihuacan, the Wannabe-Russian Communist and the Ersatz-Japanese Otaku. They are universally mocked.

Day 2: The Quickening

I woke up early, energized and ready to take on the tasks at hand: #1 Money. #2 Sheets & Stuff #3 an ethernet cable and other sundry doodads. Shouldn’t be too hard, right?

It turns out that most ATMs all over Japan only handle domestic cards. I would have known that if I had just bothered to check a Lonely Planet or any other guidebook. Sad, but something I should have been on top of. However, post offices were said to hold magical ATMs that would take international cards hooray for globalization and all that. So, I check a very sketchy map that they had put out in the common room last night and headed off into the early morning sauna.

Oh, did I mention it’s kinda warm here? I left the hotel at about 7. I passed a big digital readout on the way that said it was 28 degrees. That’s over 80 for those of us still stuck in the stone age of Fahrenheit. At 7 in the morning. Now, that’s actually not hot enough to combust crows out of the sky (lots of crows here), but it’s hot enough. Add to that, of course, a very very high humidity that feels a bit like Houston in the summer, and, well, not to put too fine a point on it, after a good stretch of walking, I’m well beyond the glistening phase, and closer to the basting phase. I have never really handled heat well. I am more of a artic kind of guy.

I actually love walking around a new place. For me, it’s the best way to get my bearings, and Japan seems to be fairly walker friendly. Like I said earlier, my hotel is in a very residential area, and it takes a good 7 or 8 minutes of hiking (we’re kind of on the top of a hill, too) to get out to the main roads. A little bit further and you’re to the train station. A bit more and you’re to the home furnishings store (it’s still closed though – too early). A bit more and you’re… where exactly? A bit more and… hmm wasn’t the post office supposed to be around here somewhere? Nice walk though. I ended up going well past the post office (it was down another street and there was a sign, but it was tiny). Sooo, I turned around and found the turnoff and went down a lovely tree covered road to a very blocky and imposing building that claimed it was the post office. In fact, the first sign that said post office (in English, I should have known better) turned out to be the cleverly named ‘Post Office’ corner shop. Alas, as I had only a couple of yen to my name, I left in search of a more suitable post office. As a side note for confusion’s sake, there was an ATM at the Post Office corner shop – domestic cards only.

One door down was the actual post office, with actual post office boxes and such, and thankfully I giant sign with an arrow pointing to the right with big blocky letters (English again, I should learn to be wary) saying ‘ATM.’ Good and nice. Unthankfully, the arrow pointed directly to a giant metal garage-door looking wall with a neatly stenciled notice in Japanese saying that the ATM was open only from 9-12 or so on Saturdays.

So the ATM was closed. Now, I’m not sure I understand the workings of banks or post offices, to say nothing of the post offices that act like banks and corner stores that seem to inhabit Japan, but isn’t it kind of the idea that ATMs are available 24-7? Isn’t the basic concept that because live tellers cost wages and benefits and such that ATMs are used to take care of basic transactions when and where you can’t afford to place tellers? Well, show’s what I know. Apparently, the labor laws in Japan are strict. Even the machines get time off. Shows what happens when you give too much authority to the robots.

Anyway. It’s 8. The ATM doesn’t open until 9. Harrumph. Well, let’s just walk around a bit more.

It’s another of those things that shouldn’t surprise me but does. Japan is a very green place. There are trees and bushes and plants – there are even a couple of posts given over to gardens inside the residential area. I’m a bit more happy than I should be to find vending machines everywhere. They are almost always drinks, and occasionally smokes. Alas, to date none have had the mythical Cucumber Pepsi, also I guess I’m not in the right area for used panties in a tube. Fret not, I’ll go into Tokyo proper soon.

A good deal of walking and the settling of a vaguely distilling image of the area in my mind later, I return to find, almost anti-clamactically, that the ATM works like a charm. Zip-zop, thousands of yen in my pocket. The side story to this is that usually when I do these kinds of outings, I have to do them on a credit card because I never get my funding money until I get back, sad but true. The problem is that I can’t seem to use my credit card for a cash advance there. I’ll have to try again maybe somewhere at a Citibank or something. The downside is that, of course, using my debit card eats away at money I need to fight beasts back home – rent, sundry other bills, and I simply don’t have enough cash on hand for this trip. Stay tuned. I could end up a shopping-cart pusher in downtown Tokyo! It’s probably as financially rewarding as grad-school work.

The rest of the day muddled along slowly. I found an electrical converter (they use the same plugs as in the US, but none of my sockets in my room have a grounding socket – and I thought I had that one covered!), ethernet cable (fun and flat, not round like in the states), bedding (try to imagine shopping for bedding when you don’t know how to say any of the following: Single, Double, Twin, mattress, mattress cover, sheet, duvet, duvet cover. Oh, and you also aren’t really sure what the size of your bed was to begin with. Fun!) I also picked up a selection of snacks (lovely candies I remember from the last time I was in Asia, lovely crackers I remember from the last time I was in Asia, debatably lovely ramen noodles – oh, and some juice, tea, a cup, bowl, and some chopsticks). It’s also worth noting that I really really really do support stores not giving away free bags, I really really really wish I had known that the grocery store didn’t do so, because juggling all that stuff on the way home (plus camera bag) was less than joyous. All of the purchases were basically reasonably priced, but when taken together, they put a fair dent in my walking around money. We shall see how this goes.

There are updates to the purchases.

When I got home another manager suggested that the ethernet cable was probably not worth it. The internet at the hotel has gone bananas, and isn’t reliable (and costs a monthly fee). I may still use it because, let’s face it, I’m an addict, but I’ll probably hold out for a couple of days to see how available public internet is.

While typing this, a very kindly older gentleman knocked on my door and delivered a mattress pad, a duvet and a pillow… and something else that looks like another mattress pad, but made out of what seems to be a towel-type material. Oh, and a pillow case. Of note there is no sheet or sheet-like items, save the pillow case. I did talk to the manager-guy about this, and the whole bedding thing seems to be a mixup on the schools end. They generally provide all this stuff before the students arrive, but didn’t this time around. Frankly, I’m still glad I got my own stuff. Oh, I forgot to mention that I also bought a towel – with a giant playboy bunny logo on it. Har, har. Photo-worthy, no doubt. I should hang it on the wall to decorate my swingin’ pad.

So, it’s getting late on day two, and although I don’t feel jet-laggy, I’m a bit tired, so I may just saunter down and see if I can log on to the public computer and post this, and then maybe head to sleep. We shall see.

Day One

It:s actually not really 24 hours though - time zones and datelines - who knows how long it was.

my appologies for formatting and such - I am using a public Japanese computer mostly cut-n-pasted from my laptop, and I am not really sure what I am doing.

General news if you don`t want to read the whole thing (it is really long): life`s good, I will get pictures up hopefully soon-ish :)

Well, I made it. I’m here in Japan, and I shouldn’t be surprised, but things have been both wonderful and wonderfully frustrating already. So - beginning the beginning.

Now we’ve already covered the whole idea that I’m not a respected scholar hosted by a fine academic institution here. I’m just a traveling student barely a step above the backpack and youth hostel crowd. Actually, maybe a step below. More on that under the ‘wonderfully frustrating’ heading in your hymnal. Because I had to get the ticket at such notice, I didn’t really get my first option for flying. That would be first class on a direct flight from my front yard to my hotel here. I had to settle for a coach flight from Hub of Doom to Taipei, then a connecting flight to Tokyo. It’s fun to look on the map and see that my plane flew very nearly over Japan on its way to Taiwan. If only I could have gotten a hold of a parachute I could have saved many hours off my itinerary. Also as a side note, I paid about the same price (within $50 I think) of the price offered three weeks ago. And I bought my ticket around 12 hours before wheels up. Fun, eh?

Props for the airline, even though we fly jets mainly now. China Air (not to be confused with Air China – next time I’ll make sure the shuttle bus driver understands the distinction) had monitors in the back of the seats, each of which was wired to a little video controller that slid out of the armrest. Hours of entertainment could be had playing poker, shoot-‘em-ups as well as various and also such games. I chose the movie channel. I got to see The Namesake (good but a bit muddled, even though I think that was the point), The Curse of the Golden Lotus (just awful, but quite pretty to look at. Maybe I should have turned off the audio), and Words and Music ( ?) (Very cute, and just what you’d expect it to be – mediocre mind-fluff)

All is well at the Taipei airport. I got a nice congee with peanuts and cucumbers and then set off to the plane switches were made with minimum fuss (although we were security screened again after we got off the first plane – eh?). I was off the ground again and on my way to Narita airport in Tokyo.

Now, I write that last bit as a joke. The airport codes might lead you to believe that Narita is in Tokyo, but that’s a cruel joke. Narita is hours away from Tokyo, but I get ahead of myself. I came in at about 12:30, cleared customs – a bit frightened to realize on completing the entry paperwork that I only had $12 in cash on me, and got my bag with only a minor kerfluffle (bag was - like Amazing Grace - thought lost, but then found. However, still to my knowledge cannot see). There was suppose to, but wasn’t anyone there to meet me. Or rather she was there, but at the wrong terminal, although I didn’t know that at the time. No, worries though, right? They’re probably late I’ll just hang out here for a while. A while goes by slowly. I’ll just call the school and let them know I’m here and they’ll figure things out. Except I don’t have any yen. No problem, I’ll find an ATM. All of which seem to be for domestic cards only. Ah ha! At last a Citibank ATM appears and I get some cash, buy a phone card (and a Coke – no cucumber Pepsi to be found yet) and call.

Why yes, she is there, she’s paged you a few times already and getting worried. Hooray! After an hour-long comedy of errors in which I’m convinced that she’s in the wrong terminal and she’s convinced she’s not, we get everything straightened out through the good offices of the information booths and a lot of paging. Thing is, she’s picking up some others over in that terminal. Apparently, that’s why she was over there in the first place. Sigh. No worries, I’ll wait over here until you pick them up.

Good thing I had a book, right?

Tah-dah and she arrives, leading me to a little café where I can sit and meet the others she has gathered while she goes off to find another wayward duckling. The crew so far is a big beefy Bahaman wearing a suit which miraculously is in perfect shape after about 20 hours on planes and even – gasp! – going through ATL, a tousled Hong Konger who once opened a snack shop in Shanghai – ‘it went pretty well while it was new and exciting, but the new wore off and then it didn’t do so well,’ and me. I learn that our poor guide isn’t the one normally tasked to do this and she’s really afraid she’s screwed the whole thing up.

In fact, she’s done quite well in shepherding the last of our gang, a French man who speaks flawless English with only a hint of an accent, to our table. Then we strategize on how to get to the hotel. Our Japanese is abysmal, but her English is passable, so we eventually tease out our options. It’s now about 4pm-ish, and we can take the ambitiously-titled ‘limousine bus,’ which she worries will be hopelessly caught in traffic, or we can take the train, which she worries will have too many transfers and ‘maybe there won’t be any escalators.’ I should mention that at this point, the idea that we’ve got another 3-4 hours of travel ahead was not cheer-inducing.

In any case, no one seemed to have any strong opinions on the matter, so because I’m nearly always a fan of trains when I can be (I’m looking at you Amtrak), I say let’s take the train, and whoosh, we’re off. The train was actually really nice. There were only two transfers and fairly easy ones, although there was a little squishing and shoving on the last train – nothing worse than in NYC though, and it was mainly because of our luggage. After the last train, we get out at the station nearest our hotel and because it’s getting dark, and starting to drizzle a bit out intrepid host springs for a couple of taxis for the rest of the trip.

Now, all this time I’ve been calling it a hotel, but it really is more like a student hostel or a foreigner commune. It’s nestled in a very residential area about a 10-15 minute walk from the station. Pretty cozy, really. However, there are some unexpected surprises. First – no sheets. No towels. No pre-wired internet. Bathroom down the hall and shower downstairs. Now, honestly, most of that isn’t a big problem with me, but the thing is I didn’t know about it beforehand. So I didn’t bring sheets or towels or anything else – hangers? Who packs hangers?

The manger on duty seemed a bit surprised that we didn’t know about all this, so I’ll lay the blame on the school for not getting the info to us. The other downside is that it’s already 8:30 and everywhere that we might have been able to get such sundries is closed. And in any case, my last yen went to pay the deposit for the room (that one was my fault. I was told about the deposit before). The manager very kindly lends us some sheets (but no towels are available – no shower tonight after nearly a full day in the air for you!), and while the rest of our merry crew heads out to get a bite to eat, I’m feeling oh-so tired (I did a 4 mile run before I realized I was going to be on a plane that same night – not such a good idea as it turns out), so I crash on my borrowed-sheet-clad bed.