Omotesando-doori (iced coffee, Condomania) . Walk to Shibuya (Birkenstocks, Pasta shop, GasPanic) . Long Walk Home

We wake up late today. No wonder, with Ants' poor sleep and our late night excursion. Ants is better in the daytime; his cough isn't affecting him that much (yet). We do our usual routine, which is shower, watch a little TV, and then shop for snacks at the convenience stores. Today, our plan is a little more amorphous and includes relaxing walking tours of the city, starting off at Omotesando doori and just kinda wandering from there, to whereever the road takes us. We want to go back to Omotesando because I thought it was a really trendy, young area that'd be nice to hang out at. This plan was made partially because of yesterday's fatiguing schedule, and we needed a break. I had planned on doing a few more things on this trip, but sadly, I don't think we'll have the time anymore... like ikebana, learning the Japanese tea ceremony, and watching sumo. We actually watched the fat guys on TV that morning.

We take the subway to the appropriate stop. I'm not sure if it happened today or a previous day, but I had to go to the bathroom urgently, and wound up going at Akasaka station. As I went in, I was dismayed to see that there were only the "squatter" type bathroom and not much else. I did my business and left, but then I noticed a signwhile coming out indicating that I had been in the girls' bathroom. A guy who was just passing me by, heading towards the mens' room, saw at me coming out and looked at the sign. He literally did a double take. I laughed it off and ran back to my group, who chided me about it.

At Omotesando, it's a perfect day out. There's plenty of sunshine. Unfortunately, we take no more pictures in Japan -- which perhaps enhances an illusion in my memory of how pretty it was. We stroll down the Japanese elm-lined street, taking in the views, our gaze lingering a bit at some luxurious-looking outdoor restaurant cafes. Certain segments remind me of Old Town Pasadena, a pretty locale in Los Angeles. We pass by an incredibly old set of apartment buildings overgrown with ivy or kudzu or some sort of vegetation, that professional photographers are taking shots of. I heard they're quite historically famous. Artisan shops have begun to take over the first floor apartment modules. Walking further along, we reach the intersection where the [Condomania] resides. Across the street, we go into an Italian iced coffee shop. I forget the name of the shop, but we wind up seeing one later on remote Lantau Island in Hong Kong, a very unlikely place being that we've already associated it within a chic, trendy, opulent environment. We all get iced coffees and hang out on the street, watching the foot traffic. Next to us, a girl has spread out multiple beads and jewelry pieces on a blanket. They're not the expensive kind, but rather the earthy and folksy type. She is putting some together, into bracelets, anklets, and necklaces as we sit and watch. Occasionally girls stop to look, and ask to have a particular piece made. People watching, at a place like this, at a time without any responsibility, is wonderful way to spend the afternoon. I don't remember the conversation that the three of us have, but it was one particularly full of smiles and laughter.

We finish our drinks and get up to go. On impulse, we head into the [Condomania], so inspect their wares. It is a tiny store. True to their name, the walls are lined with small boxes containing condoms. Having never gone into a similar store in the US, we're snickering and giggling like schoolkids at a peepshow. There's actually a similar store in Philadelphia, called Condom Kingdom. I've never gone into that one either though. Anyway, the condom types are many and varied. We're fascinated by the flavored ones. They come in all colors (including glow-in-the-dark), textures (studded, ribbed, ultra-thin), and many different fruit flavors. We can smell them through the box... yummy! As we're shopping people wander in and out of the store. Mainly girls... little girls. A couple of girls come in, and they can't be more than 16. One of them is literally an eye-magnet. She quietly and purposefully sifts through the condoms in search of the perfect one. I step outside for a moment, this is too much for my delicate sensibility. ;) Just kidding, I can take anything, but sometimes its best to take a healthy step back and view things from the exterior. I guess I'm getting relatively old; although, when I was 16 I was certainly not nearly as liberal as the Tokyoites I saw. Soon Quoc and Ants emerge from the shop. Quoc has bought a box of strawberry-flavored condoms to show Camylle, his gf, back at home. I sniff the box, they smell good enough to eat!

Outside, we decide to follow the street. Somehow, I know that it heads towards Shibuya, and I thought it'd be fun to walk there. We stroll along that street; it's another fashionable street in Tokyo, full of shops and restaurants although not as nicely arranged as Omotesando. It's actually not too far to Shibuya in retrospect. The buildings gradually begin to get higher and we see more department stores. It begins to look like Shibuya, even though I have never approached it from this end. We stop off at an internet cafe / language center to sit and rest. I think it's called the [Berlitz] Language Center (I'm surprised I remember). We buy an obligatory drink and check our email. I get a milk tea and chat with Ants while Quoc gets the first session on the computer after a short wait. Quoc tells me that Phi, his contact in Tokyo, has responded to an email he sent several days ago from an internet cafe in Roppongi, regarding good clubs in Tokyo. Unfortunately we're near the end of our trip so the listing is less than useful. Ants and I get on computers a little while later, and check our email. This is a nice internet cafe, as opposed to the one in Roppongi which was still running Japanese Windows 95-based software with numerous software incompatibility issues, as well as difficulties typing in English. We've sort of come to the conclusion that the internet in Japan isn't nearly as developed as the internet in the US. People don't seem to rely on that mode of information gathering here... instead, everyone is literally glued to their internet- and email-enabled cell phones.

After a little while longer, we get up to go. The sky has gotten dark while we were in the cafe. Across the street is another [ABC-Mart], and Quoc wants to head in. It turns out that the shoes he bought were only so good, and he wants cushioned lifts to walk with. We all join him in there as he picks out a pair of Birkenstock arch supporters. He puts them on hastily outside the store, on the crowded street, and lets out an instant sigh of relief. We resume our walk to Shibuya.

The crowds are thickening as we get closer. I start to recognize familiar buildings. We pass by a building whose facade is being worked on. There is a drape over the front of the building with some rubble at its foot, and there is a detour fence around the sidewalk leading the pedestrians away from the danger area. There is even a uniformed Japanese guy wearing a reflective vest, directing people into the detour... as if there was somewhere else people could even go aside from the path already set up. His presence there was rather redundant, but he went about his job in the most eager fashion, making the same vigorous pointing movements continuously, directing foot traffic towards the way in which they were already going. Sometimes I'm a little baffled by that mentality... I suppose in the US, if there even was a traffic guard, he would be standing around bored.

We avoid the larger streets and head into a maze of smaller roads, containing smaller shops and masses of people. We notice the suits and are prepared to deal yet again with their pressured sales pitch to get us to connive us into going inside some random hostess bar and lose money. We decide to humor one guy, halfway curious, and ask him, "So what's this all about?" After judging that we're foreigners, who speak only English, he accedes that we may not have as good of a time in those places as the usual native speaker. Apparently the usual girl who is able to entertain English-speaking clientele is out sick. We keep going... on our meandering way we pass by two dressed up Japanese women who look extraordinarily hot... probably on their way to work at a hostess bar. They get catcalls from some rather grimy, gangster-ish young Japanese men on the sidewalk; I think I can understand what they're saying. Although the exact words are lost on me, they convey the same youthful disrespect that I'm accustomed to hearing in Los Angeles.

We're feeling hungry, but before our hunger rises in our awareness, we pass by a shop called 21-Seiki. Somehow, through my online vacation planning research on Tokyo nightlife, I had chanced across this facility in particular in travel stories, but I didn't think we'd stumble upon it during our actual vacation. It was a sex boutique where male customers receive timed fellatio at a bar, in a very efficiently Japanese manner, and for some reason I found it so funny that I had joked about it to my astonished vacation comrades prior to going. One of the online stories unhappily reported a case of genital warts as a result of the author's promiscuous rampages through Tokyo (he's probably lucky if it's only that). We stand there musing and giggling like nervous schoolboys, before our common sense tells us to forget about it and that it was time to eat.

Nearby is a small pasta shop where we spend the next hour. The portions are smaller than we expected, even for Japanese standards (there's nothing like the American "super-size" in the rest of the world; there are also no morbidly obese persons like those that waddle around in America). After dinner we continue through the small streets and end up at the huge intersection across from Shibuya station, at the opening of the Center-Gai (the main street leading to the old part of Shibuya containing all of the small shops). We were here on the first day of the trip. We find a spot to lean up against, and watch the people passing by, chatting and cracking bad jokes about the Japanese sex shops. We're laughing hysterically, but there's definitely a pervasive feeling of the trip drawing to a close, which I hate. I hate it when things wind down. I like new beginnings.

We notice the Shibuya [GasPanic] down the block, and merrily enter, idiotically happy that we've earned the distinction of hitting all of the [GasPanic] bars in Tokyo. This one is underground and populated with foreigners... mainly African men, Japanese women, and some Japanese wannabees. We notice one guy whom we've seen at the other [GasPanics]... a tall thin young Japanese guy in an Allen Iverson jersey, baggy pants, and head shaved close, leaving stripes of closely cropped hair. He is wearing a bandanda and dancing alone. Although he looked ridiculous, I suppose the preppy look that I usually sport was even more out of place. I wonder what the guy does during the daytime. The music is the same as in the other [GasPanics], complete with the same short turnaround time, and kind of stale now. There are a few beautiful women, grinding with the foreigners. It has been a long time between the time I was there and the current day when I am writing this, so the fine details escape me. I remember having some drinks, talking to a big black guy (who looked like a member of the Crips in LA) about clubs in Philadelphia, and not much else aside from sitting around the bar and tables, watching people dance, feeling vaguely lonely at how much the world had to offer that I couldn't ever truly be a part of. I think I'll always be an outsider. Such is the predicament of many an Asian-American male.

After a couple of hours or so, we get up to leave. On a whim, I suggest walking back to our hotel. It wouldn't take us a ridiculously long time, and it would be something different to do. By now I have a good general sense of which direction we should be going, so we boldly strike out on a random street. The area gets rapidly quiet outside of Shibuya, and things begin to look more residential. The streets were dark and lined with trees. We passed by many modern-appearing houses with a few Japanese elements (such as wooden grilles, doors, and opaque shoji-like windows). It appeared to be a surprisingly livable place... more quiet and comfortable than Manhattan, I supposed. During the walk home, for some reason I recall Anthony telling me about a Korean restaurant bar in L.A., where you sit at a table and you can ask girls at other tables to come up and sit with you, and they're expected to comply. Sort of reminiscent of the hostess thing... although they're not paid to do so. I don't know why I mention this story... only that I remember it clearly during our walk. Anyway, it takes a good 40 minutes before we get anywhere recognizable. Using the Tokyo Tower as my landmark, I guide us to Roppongi again. Ants and Quoc are chatting about cars now, a topic I have no interest in.

Roppongi is relatively quiet, but things are more lively than previous non-weekend days. We're tired, and not really in the mood to club anymore. Ants picks up a gyuudon (beef bowl) at [Yoshinoya] before we bid our final farewell to Roppongi and trek home along the route which has become like an old, familiar friend to us.