Yoyogi fun

The next day was another one of cancelled meetings (haven’t I been wearing enough deodorant on these trips?). So I met my friend Mutsumi, who lives in Tokyo. I met her when she was spending about a year in the US while her husband worked in the Silicon Valley branch of his (Japanese) company. We met at Yoyogi-Uehara station at the edge of Yoyogi Park, and Mutsumi brought her friend Hiromi. Hiromi, it turns out, lived in the US for nearly 20 years, and now lives in a “Western-style” apartment in a section of town where lots of foreigners live. She is quite a character.

We went for lunch at a Japanese grill with a set menu of three options (pork and ginger, salmon with ikura (roe), or grilled white fish). The most interesting part was that there were bowls of whole brown eggs on the tables. I asked if they were hard-boiled, and they laughed and said no, they are raw. Raw??? They assured me that the health standards for Japanese chickens are much higher than in the US, so that raw eggs are not a danger. It is a delicacy to mix raw egg with a bit of soy sauce, then pour it over rice. Of course I had to try it. And I dare say, it’s really good! Rich, of course, with all that cholesterol, but definitely worth sampling.

After lunch we strolled to a nearly Muslim mosque that was built just a few years ago to serve the Islamic community in Tokyo. It is a Turkish mosque, and quite beautiful. The outside is white marble with inlaid tiles and it has a tall, spiky minaret. Inside, the tilework and wall painting is gorgeous. Arabic script, decorations, stained glass, carved marble, and wood seem to be everywhere. Of course there are no images or icons, so even though it is densely decorated, it doesn’t seem gaudy or overcrowded. The carpeting is a rich aqua color with a pattern—in fact, aqua and royal blue seemed to be very important colors all over the mosque. We ascended a tight spiral staircase to go up to the “women’s section” in the balcony above; there was a sign on the stairway saying that only women were allowed to go up there. (They make it seem like a special privilege, when in fact the men aren’t allowed to dirty themselves by going there). I was glad we got the chance, actually, because the view was splendid from up there, being much closer to the stained glass and domed ceiling.

Then we stopped by Hiromi’s house because her kids would be coming home. They are American citizens, born during her time in the US, and enjoy living in the Western-style apartment. Her son is in the Boy Scouts of Asia, and was currently involved in the model-car races, where the boys carve a block of wood into a car, then race them to see whose is the most aerodynamic. I remember my friends who were in the Boy Scouts doing that when I was a kid! And Hiromi has a sweet golden retriever named Chloe, which must surely be a difficult pet to have in metropolitan Tokyo.

Then Mutsumi and I trekked off to see a nearby Shinto shrine (we paid our money and made a prayer also, ringing the big bell to signal the start of our request). It also featured a replica of a traditional Japanese shelter that was in use 4,500 years ago. It was a thatched dome that looked like it could house up to 15 or 20 people, and even had a turret on top, I guess to serve as a look-out post. Or perhaps it was simply a vent, since they probably had fires in there. It even looked pretty warm, if you had a fire going and lots of people inside.

I took a bus back to Shibuya. Hungering for sushi, I found a place with premade packages of it at a market in the Tokyu shopping area. I thought I was buying 7 pieces for 600 yen (a real bargain), but when she rung it up, she only charged me 300 yen. I guess it goes on sale after 5 pm, probably because it was made earlier in the day and is no longer considered perfectly fresh. But let me tell you, slightly unfresh sushi in Japan is still fresher than most sushi in America. It was as good as standard restaurant sushi in the US—yum.

My main complaint about this hotel is that there is no Internet connection! There is the possibility of dial-up, but my computer can’t handle the unusual dial tone of a Japanese phone. I’ve had this problem before in Japan. It’s ridiculous—the most technologically advanced country in Asia and they can’t make a hotel (knowing it must serve all types of foreigners) that has a proper Internet connection. It’s also very Japanese not to care too much that things work for foreigners. They smile politely and say, “So sorry. We have no suggestion for making your computer work.”

Gah.

(As you can see, I found a connection eventually. I'm using the high-speed connection at the Concierge desk of my hotel. It took a little wrangling to get access, but it proves that even in Japan, you can do things outside the usual rules-- with enough persistence!).