Tokyo Reio Plaza Hotel
Now Playing: Two words: Japanese pop
Arriving at the hotel, I was in awe of the politeness of the Japanese. I’d heard stories, but nothing can you prepare you for it, really. I’m uncomfortable having people wait on me normally, I think it’s because I like people to be very informal and relaxed with me. Not in Japan. Spotless uniforms complete with hats and shiny buttons, there’s always a smiling Japanese staff member nodding and gesturing the right way to go. They led us upstairs to a room with our room key and a couple bags of books, pamphlets and papers. In addition to teaching guides and orientation materials, there were books on U.S. history and other books ready to make up for the obvious gap in my under-qualified American education. I love Japan.

The hotel rooms where actually pretty big. The toilets had many buttons. I pushed them. I don’t recommend pushing them. I no longer push them. Now let us never mention the Japanese techno-toilets again. The showers, on the other hand, I give the following generation x assessment: awesome. More water pressure than a fire hydrant. On the down side, I explored the ‘fridge in our room and found a very large selection of drinks. I was desperate for a beer—it was the same day as the flight and about 7 am Minnesota time, so I reached for a dark colored bottle, which turned out to be the Japanese version of Red Bull. I later found out that people are huge into these so-called “genki drinks” (Genki is Japan talk for happy/fine/well/no repressed emotion out of control at present). Apparently, since so many Japanese get hung over during the workweek, there’s a huge market for companies that make hangover cures or pick-me-up drinks charged with vitamins and semi-legal herbal ingredients. By semi-legal, I mean they are legal in Japan, but maybe not elsewhere. I tried to put it back, but a plastic shield had slid into place, blocking the return, and later costing me 5 bucks. I love Japan.

We were on our own for food, so I met a couple acquaintances in the lobby and hit up Tokyo. The streets were lined with large, flashing, fluorescent light signs that seemed to yell at me, “you’re illiterate now!” We ate at a restaurant and forgot about the shoe rule—off as you enter the table area. The menus had no pictures, so I tried to order what I thought was a rice and chicken dish, but it turned out to be a rice soup with some weird chopped up fixin’s that you put in it. It’s legal to drink in public, so my friend Mr. Z and I got some beers from a convenience store and just walked around the rest of the night. The best sight was a Japanese rock band that featured a Japanese chick rocking out on a guitar with a confederate flag while she screamed random words in English. Awesome. I love Japan.

The hotel provided most of the meals, which were amazing. Breakfast was easily the best breakfast I’ve ever head—a dazzling banquet, except that they served French fries. I suppose with the high obesity rate in America, they must think we eat those things 24-7 to maintain the weight. The coffee cups were so small, I had to go back 6 or seven times to get more. The same Japanese girl did the beverages every day. I think I offended her the first time because I filled it myself. By watching other people get coffee, I gathered that she felt it was her duty to fill my mug for me by reaching around from the back of the coffee dispenser and dispensing the coffee into my mug while I held it. The next time I got the hang of it—pouring coffee is a team effort. I love Japan.