That This is Real, This is Tokyo Moment

In fact, I had already been in Japan for four hours or so. It didn't happen when I looked out the airplane window and saw Japan for the first time. It didn't happen in the aiport, with all of the signs in Japanese. It didn't happen when a lady in kimono was next at the baggage delivery counter, and no, not when we arrived at the hostel, with its sliding door and vestibule full of shoes. Nor any of the moments between those, on the train, or walking past temples or even the Kaminarimon gates. No, it wasn't until Shibuya.

Kiyo suggested that we go out, if I wasn't too tired, to meet his friend. We took the subway down the whole Ginza line, from Asakusa station to Shibuya station. And it was there, as we left the station: the crosswalks at the corner of Shibuya Centre-gai. Centre-gai itself. The unbelievable masses of people, just crossing the street for no special reason. That was the Tokyo moment.

And then we went to an amazing little restaurant; we had to duck to get in the door, it appeared tiny from the street. But we went down, around, down, me thinking all this time "Well, this is the end of it then," three sets of three wide steps lined with tables, and there under the ground was the real centre of the restaurant. So cool.

And then I took the subway back to the hostel by myself, my first night in Tokyo out after midnight.

A fortuitous beginning indeed.