Tokyo Nightlife

After a rest in my room, I went out to Shinjuku for dinner. The place still puzzled me. Thousands of Japanese young people cruised the streets for evening entertainment. It was like a flood of humanity pulsing from the train station, up the streets, into restaurants or onto walls and benches.

I went toward a small restaurant into which a couple had just disappeared. It seemed like a good referral and I liked the anonymous, “hole-in-the-wall” facade of the place: paper lanterns, signs only in Japanese, a warm and welcoming glow emanating from inside.

Upon entering and scanning the place, I noticed only one other Westerner inside, apparently with his Japanese girlfriend. That seemed to vouch for the authenticity of the cuisine. I was shown a counter seat near them. We started up a conversation as I reviewed the incoherent menu, thankful for pictures and neighboring plates.

He helped me with the menu selection. As we talked I could see that he and his girlfriend were very much in love. She was not particularly attractive by my standards and culture, but once again I found that wonderful, exuberant spirit.

“Five years,” he said in response to my question about how long he’d lived in Japan. He worked for a U.S. company and had stayed on. This was one of his favorite spots in Shinjuku.

“How did you happen to pick this place?” he asked. “You obviously don’t know Japanese, yet there are only Japanese signs outside and Japanese menus.”

I explained my general strategy of wandering around until I found a likely local hole-in-the-wall that seemed popular with the locals. “Go forth and explore! Throw yourself into an unusual situation and see how well you can manage it.”

“Well, that’s pretty adventurous of you, without knowing the language. And you found a good place.”

I had, this time. I was uncertain how well I could replicate this success in even stranger places like Russia, India or Africa. I’d have to see — when and if I got there. In some ways and despite it’s westernization, Japan was more culturally isolated than many far-flung places on the planet’s surface. African jungles may have been more accustomed to foreign intrusion than places in Japan, especially outside Tokyo.

Of course, so much of this depended upon the friendliness of the people – more so than language or cultural awareness. I recalled a few nights prior at a restaurant in Akasaka. I had solicited some culinary suggestions from an accountant for Fuji-Fujitsu and his wife. They spoke no English, and I virtually no Japanese. Yet we communicated. Somehow, it worked.

My new friend and his girl talked in animated Japanese. Staring into a firepot of wood coals across the counter, I pondered Shinjuku’s nightlife. I could see a more open sexual attitude in a culture that is so homogeneous. If Japanese only sleep with other Japanese, AIDS is not much of a threat. The expectation of late working hours and company sponsored dinners set the stage for amorous liaisons. Love hotels provided the opportunity and assured anonymity. I still didn’t understand why jealousy wasn’t a bigger thing – other than that each spouse may simply keep thoughts and actions to him- or herself.

The business practice of having Geisha or modern equivalents to greet visiting managers suggested an appeal beyond the culture. Frankly, I didn’t know how prevalent this remained. Nonetheless, there was no need for Annie to worry.

I liked the people in general and had become better at noticing the ways in which they expressed their uniqueness amidst strict societal norms. I regretted that they were trapped in such a repressive culture — repressive to my eyes. Did they likewise see me trapped in negative images of America? Once again I had to repeat my mantra for Japan: “I have no friggin’ idea.”