The first full day in Tokyo

This is the sort of blog entry that I write with dread, and I say that only because I’ve been in Tokyo for 22 hours now, and I have nothing even close to a full thought or a final answer — just fragments and fears and joys, all warped by fatigue and caffeine. Whatever I write here, I’ll go back and read it someday and cringe. I’ll feel foolish. I’ll feel naive. But oh well. I’ll also look back on these first moments in a new country — 13 time zones and 5,000 Kanji characters removed from familiarity — as one of the weirdest chapters of my life, remembering all the sensations. It’ll probably be worth a good smile.

I’ll start with the part I feel most confident saying: The first day, including the trip here, was easier than I feared. In fact fear was the hardest part. Leaving DC was brutal; Monday night, I watched “The Hangover” with my closest friends, Eli and Rachel, and even that didn’t make me laugh. On the way to the airport, I listened to sports talk radio, 106.7 FM, and thought about how I might watch my next Super Bowl in 2014.

But attitude is truly a choice, and let’s be honest, this new journey is something I chose, and I chose it for many reasons. Even at the airport, I reminded myself to think about those reasons — to think about the upcoming adventures, the parts of the world I’d get to explore, the people I’d meet. My dad sent me an e-mail, subject, “As you embark on your new life…” and for the sake of his dignity I won't excerpt his metaphors (one involved a frog; another involved an elephant), mostly because the message was a great one. I actually boarded the plane with a smile.

The flight lasted 13 hours, one less than expected. As far as 13-hour plane rides go, I’ve never had a better one, and it was at least 160-percent better than my 16-hour flight to Australia.

I’d summarize the time thusly: There was 30 minutes of chit-chat with seat neighbor, followed by one hour of reading, followed by two hours of watching “The Blind Side,” followed by one hour of the “This American Life” podcast, followed by four or five hours of Advil PM-induced sleep, followed by two more hours devoted to Ira Glass, followed by another few hours of reading and chit-chat and eating. When we landed, I turned on my BlackBerry, learned that it still received e-mails, and promptly learned that Japan’s prime minister had resigned.

For a reporter, the resignation of a prime minister typically falls under the broad category of what we in the industry call “news.” This is true even in a country that disposes of its prime ministers as if they were decomposing produce. My intuition was to break through customs, grab my notebook, B-line to central Tokyo and write a breaking news story that landed hours later on A-1. Of course imagination, especially Advil PM-enhanced imagination, is always better than reality. The reality was, my outgoing colleague Blaine Harden had already written and filed the news story about six hours earlier. Tomorrow, I’ll cover the selection of Japan’s next prime minister.

So, now it’s time for the segment in this blog entry wherein the newcomer in a strange land gives his fresh-off-the-plane observations. (Ex: The heat is really dry in Las Vegas! And all the people smell like cigarettes and chicken drumsticks!) There’s probably only nominal value in these observations, and again, I’ll soon enough realize the folly of what I’m saying here. But that disclaimer out of the way, here’s my conclusion: This country would not work too well for Michael Oher.

Indeed, after a 90-minute bus ride from Narita airport, I arrived at my Shibuya-ku hotel, my short-term home while I apartment-hunt. The hotel room isn’t just smaller than what you get from an American hotel; it’s smaller than what you get from an American hotel as a complimentary fruit basket. The room’s desk chair, which is really just a stool, sits approximately 14 inches off the ground. Two of my four suitcases are lounging out of necessity on the bed. And the shower stall is tiny enough to create its own amusing dangers — namely, when some mysterious gust of air catches the base of the shower curtain, it takes on some distinctly cobra-like qualities, and I become its mongoose, just trying to avoid a slimy suffocation.

But let’s move on. More quick-hit Tokyo observations, mostly pleasant. The electronics don’t need converters. People drive with extreme care and politeness. It’s much quieter than I expected. There are lots and lots of beautiful women.

Last night, my first in Tokyo, I just walked around the neighborhood a bit. But today was my first proper exposure to the city. To mark the occasion, I rose from bed at about the time when I heard the first faint signs of street life. I was ready to go. Not just awake, but ready-to-lead-the-Second-Line-through-New-Orleans awake. It was 4:04 a.m.

So I started the day with a quick run through the mostly empty streets, eventually finding a circular public park for a few quick laps. At 9:30, I met the Washington Post’s full-time Tokyo-based assistant, Ako Yamamoto, who immediately showed herself to be the most competent, friendly, organized person I’ve ever encountered. If only the Diet knew about her, she could probably grab the prime minister’s seat.

Being in a new place always drives one, I suppose, to be more willing to give your trust to another. You have no choice, really. But Ako made it easy. With the help of a local realtor, we spent the morning on an apartment-hunting speed-chase, cabbing it from neighborhood to neighborhood. The routine basically went like this: We’d arrive outside some modern looking apartment, take the elevator up, remove our shoes and look around. Every apartment impressed the heck out me, to be frank. Once I settle on a place I’ll devote more blogspace to living arrangement details, but suffice to say I’m gonna be alright here. Oh, and when we used the metro, Ako handed me a pre-paid plastic card to swipe upon entering.

My mid-afternoon, I split ways with Ako and did a little more neighborhood strolling. There’s a special tension that comes during this — mostly established by the language barrier standing between you and your efficacy. Every little exchange, there’s the possibility of joy or embarrassment. I’m only slowly getting better at finding the courage to try. Today’s successes: Asking the front desk for an ironing board and ordering a coffee at Starbucks. Today’s failures: Follow-up conversations in said exchanges.

As a general rule, my best Japanese conversations end after somewhere between 15 and 25 syllables.

There’s plenty of space in a Japanese hotel room for my vocabulary.