In January of 2009, after assisting for three weeks with a linguistics experiment in Bangkok, Thailand, I had the opportunity for a three day layover in Tokyo on my way back to Hawai‘i. Clearly, I took it. I had been to Japan before, but Okinawa, so many would say I had never really been to Japan. I arrived early afternoon on a Friday. I had been told to go straight to Shibuya Station so that I could see the rush hour foot-traffic across the world’s busiest crosswalk, and in one of Japan’s busiest subway stations. Now, because I speak Mandarin, I can actually read a lot of Japanese signs, but when it comes to spoken Japanese, I was a total goner. Despite all that, I amazingly got to Shibuya Station right at 4:00 in the afternoon.I stored my luggage in a locker at the airport, and so all I had on me was a backpack with a couple changes of underwear, socks, et cetera. For some odd reason, Michael Jackson seemed like the best soundtrack to fighting through Japanese rush hour traffic with a bulky backpack on. Smooth Criminal, full volume, iPhone securely in front left pocket. I push and shove my way over the heads of busy and tired Japanese workers heading home (I’m 6’5″). Once again, I miraculously got straight to the Shibuya Station crosswalk. At this point in the trip, I realized that if I couldn’t read Japanese kanji, I would have not have gotten nearly as far as I had, so easily, at least. I’m outside now, standing in the biggest crowd I’ve been in since going to outdoor concerts in high school. The light turns green and off we go. The road suddenly disappears and all you see is a blanket of bobbing black heads. I cross the street and head straight to Starbucks, where I got a coffee, and then sat on the second floor balcony that overlooks the crosswalk. I get my guidebook out that I purchased at Narita (the airpot). I start reading about another area of the city called Shinjuku. It was described as sort of seedy, sort of artsy, sort of gay, sort of fashionable, sort of red-light district. After reading the first paragraph, I knew where I had to be. I hopped off my stool, crossed back over into the station, and three stops later I was at Shinjuku. This is where everything turns bad. First of all, it starts to snow. I haven’t seen snow in years, let alone been in weather cold enough to produce snow. I was dressed for maybe a cool spring day, at best.

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