A brief tour of Tokyo, thanks to a Gwen Stefani song

I love Tokyo. Granted I only was in the city for about five hours and only explored one district, but from what I saw, I fell in love. It was refreshing to see skyscrapers again; to experience the hustle and bustle of big city life; and to just be another number among millions. Don’t get me wrong, I love the laid back atmosphere and laissez faire attitude of the CNMI, but sometimes I just want to see some speed past me talking on their cell phone or hear a car honk their horn.

A 12-hour layover in Narita, en route to Fiji and ultimately Western Samoa, allowed me to travel to Tokyo. It was my first time in Asia, although I don’t know if most people would even consider my time in the Japanese city as a visit, but for the sake of dinner conversation I will.

People warned me that Japan, or any other country in Asia for that matter, might be the first time that I will really feel out of place. I’ve traveled through Europe and in every country I visited I could pass for a citizen (that is until I opened my mouth and butchered their language. (who knew Czech words were so long?) When I travel to a country I like to make sure I can at least say thank you in their language, but I failed to look up that phrase before I left Saipan. So instead of giving an incoherent “thank you,” I ended up spending my day thanking people in English with a big smile, hoping it would convey, “I’m sorry. I really appreciate that you know some English because I’m hopeless at Japanese.”

Once on the subway to Tokyo from Narita, I studied my map intently and made sure I sat so I could see the flashing screen, listing the next stop, perfectly. I was determined not to get lost and end up in Katmandu. (I got on an express train once in Germany and found myself two hours outside my original destination. Luckily, I had a friend with me so we could laugh about it together.)

I didn’t get lost and found my stop, Harajuko. I’m a little ashamed to admit that the only reason I ended up in Harajuku was because, when the woman at the information desk at the airport listed the various places I could go to, Harajuku was the only place I had heard of before. And this is only because of the Gwen Stefani song.

Upon my arrival, I was mesmerized by the shops and the big city feel and my inability to read most of the signs. But it didn’t matter. I was in Tokyo! I felt like I was 8 years old again and on my way to Disney World. I took a chance and walked down a random street, which ended up taking me to Omotesando, where all of the designer shops—Prada, Louis Vuitton, Donna Karen, etc., are located. I saw a few of the young women famous for their unique style entering and exiting stores, but it being a Thursday, most of the more outlandish trendsetters weren’t out; that’s apparently reserved for Saturday nights. But I was in awe of the shoes the girls I did see were wearing. I don’t even know if they could be called shoes, I think the four-inch heels more resembled torture devices. Throughout the day I would look down at my flip-flops sheepishly, but thankful for the cushy bottoms.

As I continued on, I came across the United Nations University. Who knew they had a university? I sure didn’t but it was impressive nonetheless. Next I proceeded to Yoyogi Park, covered in trees and lush shrubbery. I again felt like I was in another big city, this time New York City, and I was walking through Central Park. I stumbled upon the Meiji Shrine, where I learned the proper way to cleanse my hand and mouth before entering (wash left hand then right then sip the water using the left hand).

The shrine, constructed in 1920 dedicated to the deified spirits of Emperor Meiji and his wife, Empress Shoken, was filled with people of all backgrounds, most seemed to be tourists, but there were also school children and men in business suits praying at the shrine on their lunch hour. I stood back and watched as each proceeded to perform the ritual prayer method.

My time was nearly up and I began to head back to the metro station to return to Narita. Unfortunately, I assumed going back would be as easy as coming. I was wrong. If it weren’t for a nice French man who spoke English helping me I might still be in Tokyo. Although I guess that wouldn’t be that bad.