Sons of Loki

Tokyo may have a reputation as one of the most expensive cities in the world, but even backpackers on a budget can scrape by with a few tips.

In its 1,400 year history, the Japanese capital of Tokyo has faced catastrophic earthquakes, annihilation by numerous great fires, and massive Allied bombardment
in WW2; surviving these to rebuild as the biggest city in the world.

Over 30 million people, a quarter of the entire population of Japan, live in the Chiba-Tokyo-Yokohama conurbation, a sprawl of architecture which stretches as far as the eye can see. Every year, millions of tourists from around the world flock to this unique Asian gem, an exotic, blazing and ever-exciting fusion of East and West. It has been more than 150 years since American Commodore Matthew Perry sailed into Tokyo Bay with his fleet of US Navy steamships, forcing the isolationist Tokugawa government to open up trade with the west. These days, there’s no need to make as dramatic an entrance: and not even a lack of funds need stop you from experiencing the best that Japan’s dazzling capital city has to offer.

The best place to immerse yourself in the hustle and bustle of modern Tokyo – without spending a single yen – is the area around Shinjuku Station. The station sees a whopping 3.6 million passengers every day, making it the busiest station in the world. At rush hour, it certainly feels like it.

A raucous and motley swarm of Tokyoites hurry to-and-fro between platforms: grey-suited, stern-faced “salarymen”; impeccably made-up “OLs”, or “office ladies”; the occasional older figure in a kimono; schoolchildren in immaculate uniforms; and, if you’re lucky like I was on my first day, the unmistakable sight of a rikishi , or sumo wrestler, in traditional dress. Outside, enormous crowds surge to work or play across one of Tokyo’s hectic six-way pedestrian crossings.

Shinjuku lies on the west side of Tokyo’s 23 core divisions, or wards. The western districts of Shinjuku, Shibuya, and Ikebukuro, previously the upper-class area of Yamanote, today comprise a contiguous series of huge commercial and entertainment hubs, whereas Taito and Bunkyo, the quieter areas east of the Imperial Palace (Shitamachi, or “low city”) enshrine a great deal of Tokyo’s historic areas, including ancient Buddhist temples and beautiful areas of parkland.

West of Shinjuku, the major Tokyo business district of Nishi-Shinjuku features wide-open and airy streets surrounding the slender, elegant skyscrapers of the biggest Japanese companies and exclusive Western-style luxury hotels. The angular twin towers of the Tokyo Metropolitan Government Building, opened in 1991, feature twin observation decks on the 45^th floor and offer breathtaking views of Shinjuku, Tokyo and beyond: on exceptionally clear days, you may be lucky enough to glimpse the white dome of Mount Fuji, 60 miles distant.

Be sure to go at dusk and enjoy a coffee while the sun sets and Tokyo lights up, notably around the lavishly-illuminated Tokyo Tower, a 332m tourist trap built in 1958. Tokyo’s enormous sprawl, glittering from horizon to horizon with the light of 30 million inhabitants, is a spectacle difficult to forget.

From there, you can continue for a drink at the New York Bar, located on the 52^nd floor of the Park Hyatt Tokyo hotel. Prominently featured in Sofia Coppola’s 2003 Lost in Translation , the bar’s sumptuous atmosphere of high-class luxury complements the equally stunning views from the enormous two-story windows and the nightly live music from accomplished jazz acts. While the cover charge of 2,000 yen after 8pm (7pm on Sundays) may seem rather steep especially considering the pricey drinks, it’s worth it to enjoy a hour or two of the jet-setting lifestyle of Tokyo’s elite without shelling out a whopping 60,000 yen for a single night in the hotel.

Unfortunately, for the most part, Tokyo’s nightlife can do a very good job of separating foreigners from their money. The Roppongi district, a hotbed of bars and clubs popular with the ex-pat community, has a great deal of perfectly respectable and popular drinking establishments; but stories abound of hapless tourists coerced by hustlers into seedy Yakuza-run bars where the bill can quickly run into the tens of thousands of yen and where things can get very ugly if you try to dispute the cost.Even the more respectable clubs have exorbitant cover charges and are generally quite small and cramped. Instead, for a club that really lives up to Tokyo’s reputation of ultra-hip nightlife, try WOMB in fashionable Shibuya. A low-key exterior conceals the enormous dance hall inside, a cavernous hangar-like space three stories high. On the dance floor, hundreds of sweaty Tokyo youths gyrate to house and techno served up by a host of international DJs.

After a night of Tokyo’s charms, free entertainment can be found in Harajuku. A district between Shibuya and Shinjuku in western Tokyo, this is where flamboyant Japanese youth culture reigns supreme. The clothing in Harajuku is not so much fashion as fancy-dress: elaborate frilly dresses are the hallmark of Gothic Lolitas, while for other Tokyo youngsters it’s like punk rock never died. Take a deep breath and dive into the crush of Takeshita Street directly across from Harajuku Station, where shops with names like Sexy Dynamite are the
norm. If you’re lucky, you might catch a busker or two on the road outside the station, eager to be noticed.

For a more sedate experience, visiting Tokyo’s parks is an inspired way to unwind. Ueno Park is a great way to waste an afternoon strolling along the wide paths, mingling with the crowds, and watching performers near the towering fountains of water. For a different experience, visit the beautiful Japanese-style gardens at Rikugien. For a paltry 300 yen, you can visit quaint little teahouses hidden under towering trees, marvel at meticulously manicured lawns, and enjoy 88 scenes from famous poems recreated in miniature around a serene central pond.

While Tokyo may not be able to beat the sheer number of temples and shrines in Japan’s historic capital Kyoto, the ancient Senso-ji temple in Asakusa is a fine example of Buddhist grandeur, having been around as long as Tokyo itself – and it’s free. Beyond the enormous Kaminarimon(“Thunder Gate”) with its giant red paper lantern, a crowded avenue of souvenir shops bustles with tourists in the daytime and early evening. Return late at night, however, and you’ll find a very different experience. In an empty courtyard, under the bleached night sky, the temple buildings loom ominously, yet serenely.

For more materialistic concerns, head to the Ginza shopping district: the home of upmarket department stores like Wako and Matsuya, as well as big name fashion boutiques. The high prices, however, mean Ginza has little to offer except window shopping for those on a budget.

For electronics, Akihabara is the undisputed capital. Though
the big name stores like Laox offer duty-free shopping for foreigners, the real bargains are to be had in the smaller, messier shops hidden down back alleys and up dimly-lit stairwells, offering dirt-cheap state-of-the-art equipment made in Japan.

Tokyo has no shortage of hotels. Pleasant, if rather mundane business hotels offer single rooms from around 10,000 yen and doubles from 15,000 yen. I stayed with Sakura Hotel, a backpacker-orientated company who offer bargain singles from 6,090 yen and doubles from 8,200 yen in a central location with friendly, bilingual staff. The hotel’s sister organisations are worth checking out too: the clean and professional Sakura Hostel, located very close to the Senso-ji temple in Asakusa, has dorm beds at 2,940 yen; and for stays longer than a month Sakura House have 185 long-stay guesthouses across Tokyo starting from 39,000 yen (£190) per month for a dormitory and 48,000 yen for your own room with a shared kitchen. For a room of your own, you can’t beat the cheap and cheerful The Koenji, well located, clean, and just 2,500 yen a night.

Vending machines everywhere sell drinks, hot and cold, for 100-180 yen. You can eat well and in true Japanese style at fast food restaurants like Yoshinoya, where a big plate of rice and Japanese-style curry will set you back only 400-500 yen, with a cup of miso soup and a glass of water thrown in for free. In a pinch, combini (convenience stores) offer ready-to-eat sushi, sandwiches, and microwavable meals for a low price, and the ubiquitous 99 yen shops can feed you on the cheap.

Japan’s rail network is internationally renowned for its efficiency and the trains in Tokyo are exceptionally clean, safe, and reliable. JR (Japan Rail)’s Yamanote loop line circles the core of Tokyo, with trains every two minutes and clear English displays in every carriage. As well as JR’s numerous train lines, Toei Subway and Tokyo Metro lines criss-cross the city. Tickets can be purchased from English-speaking machines and are priced by distance, costing around 110 to 270 yen for short hops around Tokyo. For those perplexed by often-confusing network maps, the best option might be an Oyster-style prepaid smart card: the competing Suica and PASMO cards can be charged up with up to 20,000 yen after an initial 500 yen charge. They work on all subway, bus, and most train lines in Tokyo: they can even be used to pay at vending machines.

If you’re planning to travel throughout Japan, an absolute bargain can be had with JR (Japan Rail)’s Rail Pass, which offers free travel on all JR lines throughout Japan except the Nozomi Shinkansen (the fastest of Japan’s famed bullet train services). A seven-day Rail Pass costs 28,300 yen, which compares favourably with the 26,440 yen fare for a return ticket between Tokyo and Kyoto. Bear in mind, however, that if you’re planning to stay in Tokyo the Rail Pass will probably cost you more than you save.

How to get there

Almost all international flights touch down in Narita Airport, located 70km from Tokyo, but you can catch JR’s Narita Express service from the airport’s two stations to Tokyo Station, which takes 55 minutes and costs 2,940 yen (free with the JR rail pass). Alternatively, the rival Keisei line offers the Skyliner for 2400 yen (36 minutes) or the bog-standard Limited Express service for 1000 yen (80 minutes). Avoid taxis, which will set you back 30,000 yen.

Last time in my exciting tales, I was on a bus coming in to park outside the Subaru Building in West Shinjuku. Will I survive to catch my plane on Monday? Can I finish all the odd jobs I have left to do? Will the mysteries of the Nagano Sword be finally revealed? HERE I TELL ALL

We got back earlier than expected, so Jade and I got back to my room pretty early. She caught some kip; I caught up with the latest happenings on the interwebs and fretted about the impending rent payment and tried to work out how I was going to put the contents of an entire room and ten months of life into one suitcase and two bags.

We took a run to Musashi-sakai for gyoza and ramen with our friend Hime, who was sadly headed back to Korea that day, a few days before we headed home. After goodbyes we headed back to TUFS where I managed to get my rent shit sorted

Sort of. I mean, no one really seemed that bothered that I’d been given a day to pay £500, but I guess I was lucky not to have to pay it there and then. I’ll have to make an international payment which will cost me £7.50 out of me own pocket and christ, I don’t know.

Anyway, I asked myself: if I had one last free night in Tokyo – which I did – where would I go? The answer was, of course, the New York Bar at the Park Hyatt.

Haha! Who would believe that a penniless student loser like myself would sort of become a regular at the New York Bar? Some English tourists asked me for directions, and I was like – oh, it’s just up here, and you take a lift to the sky lobby … It must have been my fifth time, actually, and screw it if a martini costs £12 because there’s no bar more incredible, with that amazing view of Shinjuku and beyond out the window.

I came in shorts. There was a dress code. They sent a man to get me some black trousers to change into. Only in Japan.

Anyway, we had a drink and because we aren’t ridiculously rich (yet) we got out of there and rolled on down to Hanbey in Kichijoij, which is sort of the polar opposite of the New York Bar – noisy, cheap, and completely out of date. We managed to drag Katy out too, had a few beers and yakitori and a frog leg, which I’d actually got used to. And that was it. Last Friday night in Japan.

The next day, I finished off my year abroad report for Leeds. 2,000 words is actually quite a lot, although if Leeds hadn’t asked me to do it I probably would have written a blog post to the same effect anyway. Long story short: had some ups, had some downs, came away with a better understanding of myself. And a better understanding of how I study, too. Jade went out into town for a final wander, but I had no such luxury: after feeling strangely emotional listening to Marisa Stole The Precious Thing I caught the train to Fuchu. Technically I live in Fuchu City, but it’s a lot easier to get to Koganei City from TUFS, and so I’d only been to Fuchu twice: once at the start of the year for administrative procedures, and once in December to go see Avatar.

I was there to cancel my phone and return my health insurance card, but the more I thought about it, the more sense it made to cancel my phone the next day. So I headed down to City Hall for to settle my national health fees and return the card, as is required.

City Hall.

On a Saturday.

It’s only open weekdays.

So continued the miserable story of my attempt to leave the country.

Thus foiled, I gave up and went for curry one last time, then wandered down to the Fuchu shrine we visited all those months ago. I washed my hands at the trough, wandered inside. It was quiet. Went up to the shrine, tossed a few coins in, awakened the spirits. Asked for a safe trip home. Bowed, turned around, headed back to the modern world.

BOOM! KAPOW! We stumbled out of Asakusa station into a warzone; police marshalling traffic, explosions in the sky, the distant sound of mortars firing, the street streaming with refugees. Except it was the Sumidagawa Fireworks Festival, and we were dressed like this:


You can’t see the bow I tied in Jade’s obi. I was proud of that. It looked pretty bad, but it was the first time I’d even tried tying an obi, and the instructions were all in Japanese, and it may not have looked exactly proper but it was damn good for a first try, I reckon.

The place was packed, and we weren’t even at the actual site. And we were late (due to obi complications). And we were trying to meet up with Satomi, but it dawned that in the streets heaving with people in a neighbourhood neither of us knew, with the phone service overloaded in some parts and impossible to talk on due to GIANT BOOMS, meeting up wouldn’t be possible.

I got quite flustered, but then I realised – hey, しょうがない, and then tried to enjoy what was left of the fireworks. I mean, we couldn’t actually see anything because of the buildings, but I seen fireworks before. What was more exciting was the atmosphere.


There were a lot of girls wearing yukata – the only guys in them were boyfriends and a handful of gaijin like us, dressing up for the night. An old man turned to us and gave us a kind 「かわいい。」, which was sweet. Frenzied street sellers sold takoyaki, screaming 「サンビャク！さんびゃくえん！！」 at festivalgoers. I bought some cus – well, it’s what you do at festivals, right? – and it was delicious. We managed to avoid the crush of people leaving by walking down to JR Asakusabashi station – buying some highballs on the way – and got the train to Ogikubo to see Risako and Rob. What with it being our final night in Tokyo, we decided to go to McDonalds.

The next day, we left. And that’s a story for another day.

I cycled along Route 14 on my way back from Kichijoji. I can’t remember what I was listening to, but it seemed apt. I passed glowing family restaurants in the dark, catching a vignette of a store manager standing, alone, keeping a midnight vigil over rows of empty tables. Brief traffic flashes past. The night air whips past, cool and refreshing. This is my city.

Renowned curator Jacques Saunière staggered through the vaulted archway of the museum’s Grand Gallery.

The word of the day is “crash blossom“. On Nippon Housou 1242 AM Radio, they are debating the relative merits of YouTube and Nico Nico Douga.

The day after – or was it the same day? – I’m on the 48th floor of the Tokyo Metropolitan Government Building. Actually, the 47th floor, where the toilets are. Away from the bright lights and monochrome carpets of the observation deck on the floor above, the oddly-lengthy corridor to the toilets is plain, a shade of industrial beige, unadorned. It seems impossible that this floor was once open to the elements, as big-muscled construction workers wearing blue bandanas hoisted great steel beams into place, laid cabling, built stairs up to a floor that had yet to exist. If you were one of those workers putting this floor up, twenty years ago, two-hundred and thirty metres above the ground, would you be able to imagine how it would look full of tourists and gift shops and with a grand piano? How’d they get that up there, anyway? The whole place seems impossible, a logical contradiction.

Physicist Leonardo Vetra smelled burning flesh, and he knew it was his own.

The next day – or it might have been today – Rob and I, sweltering from the heat, take a seat on a bench outside MUFJ in Kichijoji. We are killing time until the contact lenses we have ordered from the local opticians are ready, at 2pm. The lenses are made in Japan – it should be cheaper to bulk-buy them here and bring them back with us. I bought a collection of Otsuichi’s stories, Zoo 1, and the first The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya novel. I feel like we’re two old men, sitting on benches all day long.

Some time before, I’m at ICU for their end-of-term party thing. It’s a bright, sunny day. Someone hands out water pistols. I take a few photos, lie back on the grass, bask in the sun. It’s certainly summer.

Back in Shinjuku, we browse all seven floors of a branch of Marui, one filled with little boutiques for the stranger side of Tokyo fashion – gothic, lolita, punk, gothic lolita, steampunk, and various combinations of them all. Two middle-aged men dressed up like china dolls in pink frilly dresses and blonde curls stomp around on platform shoes. Victorian angels float through the merchandise. On the first floor, I buy a silkscreen print, which later covers my window.

Geologist Charles Brophy had endured the savage splendor of this terrain for years, and yet nothing could prepare him for a fate as barbarous and unnatural as the one about to befall him.

Close to midnight, I get on the wrong train and end up on the Hashimoto spur. Luckily, I can still get home before the trains stop running. I am at a station called Keio Tamagawa with about three or four other people on the platform, all of us waiting for the last train.

A lot earlier, in the book shop of the Tokyo Museum of Modern Art, I flick through glossy, enticing books on architecture. I ache with desire to become an architect and design sweeping facades of glass and pine, design for better living, live in Fallingwater and listen to jazz all day.

The simple fact is that if you are ever mentioned on page 1 of a Dan Brown novel you will be mentioned with an anarthrous occupational nominal premodifier and you will have died a painful and horrible death by page 2.

The night before ICU’s party, I’m in Koreatown with Kaz and Rob and Kanako and friends, feeling nostalgic at the PCbangs and noraebangs, mixing the egg into the bibimbap and wrapping up chunks of barbecued pork in leaves of lettuce with lashes of chilli sauce. This time a year previously, I must have been heading out to Seoul for a month. It seems like forever ago.

“”Every day I write the book”. Elvis Costello,” says the DJ on Nippon 1242.

Today, I’m back on Route 14, cycling back wearing my nice new climbing boots which I bought for scaling Mount Fuji in two weeks’ time. Everything is so perfect, so peaceful, and yet there’s an underlying current of discomfort. It can’t be summed up in words, that’s why. I’m overwhelmed by it all. The sheer beauty of nature, the overbearing unending joy of living, when everything’s going right – no one can quite write that down. It’s painful.

Following the conclusion of my mid-term exam, I decided to hit Tokyo again. Of course, all too soon, going to Tokyo will be a lot more difficult than hopping on the Keio Line from Tobitakyu station, and words like “Semi-Special Express” and “Keio West Entrance” will be distant memories – like a dream, even.

I hit my usual places in Shinjuku – a few rounds of Beatmania IIDX and Drummania (the latter I’m getting better at, the former I fail hugely at), the game store where I never buy anything (I only go back because I saw Drummania for sale there once, but didn’t buy it, and now I regret it) – then thought I’d check out this exhibition at the Tokyo Museum of Modern Art in Chiyoda, something about architecture that I’d read an article about in Metropolis.

Regrettably, it turned out to be closed on Mondays, but no worries: instead I enjoyed a relaxing stroll around the perimeter of the Imperial Palace, which is closed to plebs like me.
After a quick burger and a bit of kanji study in a Ginza Lotteria (about the least classy meal you can have in ultra-classy Ginza) I came to Tokyo Station (probably my favourite station in all of Tokyo; an important hub like Shinjuku, but not as inhuman and impersonal) and wound up, like I so often do, back on the streets of New York City, a dope fiend, a slave, then prison; then the madhouse; then the grave Akihabara.

Ah, I’ll miss that fucking place (I imagine in decades to come, travel guides to Tokyo will open the section on Akihabara with a quote from me along those lines). The hobby stores. The bizarre proliferation of home security stalls. The game shops, of course; the myriad electronics meccas, the maid cafes, the KFC, the Coco Curryhouse; the corner which valiantly tries to ignore the rest of the place by having trendy cafes and a Muji and a pâtisserie but lets the side down by including a (ridiculously popular) Gundam Cafe; the streets and alleys which I shamefully know like the back of my hand.

In Yodobashi Camera I listened to their hi-fi equipment, because I’ve got it into my head that, as a music-loving nerd, my room next year will not be complete without some big-ass floorstanding speakers and the cheapest best-sounding amplifier I can buy (probably the Q Acoustics 1030is and an amp from the Cambridge Audio Topaz range at the moment, he says, pretending he knows something about hi-fi systems). I thought I spied a bargain on a Marantz amp, but it turns out I can get it cheaper in the UK and it’s a bit pants anyway, so that saves me posting a 7kg amplifier back home.

So. 東京、また逢う日まで (until we meet again, Tokyo)…

Today wasn’t an entirely wasted day! I went back to Shinjuku – that old tart – for the first time in a long time, only to find that I’d totally forgotten how to behave. I walked into people. I got lost. I barged into elevators. There’s a knack to getting through Shinjuku, and I’d entirely forgotten it.

But I found Kinokuniya once again (I always think it’s on the wrong street) and basked myself in its beautiful seven floors of books. Books! Books with words. Books with pictures. Books to educate. Books to entertain. Books that can, in a tiny package and for a small fee, change your very being. To distract me from morose thoughts, I simply need to have recourse to books, as Michel de Montaigne said.

I bought Freakonomics, because everyone else in the world has read it by now and it was only 850 yen. I bought our super-dull textbook for next year, called New Approaches to Pre-Advanced Intermediate Grammar Solutions For Learning Japanese in Context (or something like that). And I got our recommended Japanese-Japanese dictionary, 小学国語学習辞典 (Primary School Japanese Study Dictionary). As the name suggests, it’s for primary school kids, but it’s full of cute pictures and I like my textbooks with cute pictures.
Plus, it gives a tiny insight into how Japanese children learn the language. Obviously the bulk is just natural acquisition, but I noticed things in the dictionary like a little box distinguishing the homophones 形 and 型 and the tiny semantic difference, which is something I was beginning to wonder about in my own study, and intriguing insights into how Japanese kids are taught kanji (by year, organised by theme, and the dictionary scattered with what seem to be pictographic representations of the components, as far as I can tell).

I also bought a book called Read Real Japanese Fiction, because it caught my eye with an appealing offer of six short stories from contemporary Japanese writers, together with grammatical explanations and a glossary. I strongly believe the best way to learn a language is through interaction with a genuine corpus of day-to-day use; having never read much fiction in Japanese (aside from manga, which has its own stylistics) I thought it would be good to have a primer in Japanese fiction so as to become more literate.

So I retired to a nearby cafe with a maple latte and began reading 「神様」 (“God”), a short story by Hiromi Kawakami about a bear who moves in three doors down. I read quite slowly (I’m only three pages in), but it’s incredibly exciting to be reading an actual Japanese story, and I can already feel my comprehension increasing.

A little later, I joined Ella, Fran, and Hime for a visit to Kuu, this bar in Shinjuku I’m doing a review of. I want to save my thoughts for the review, but it was a nice place, I tried some ten-year old Yamazaki whisky, and we got free creme brulees (I think because I had a coupon).

I’m back in McDonalds. No idea why I come here; it’s certainly not for the overpriced food. But I guess it’s the familiarity. I know what I’m getting. I know that the staff will say “<Welcome>”, “<What drink would you like?>”, “<Are you eating in?>”, and “<Thank you please wait>”. In fact, when I ordered today, the cashier was mute for some reason, so I just said “Big mac setto. Orenji juusu. Kochira. Hai.” without the other side of the conversation.

Woke up this morning afternoon feeling glum as usual. Then I went out on the balcony and the sun was shining, the air was warm, the sakura was in blossom and there was a scent of spring in the air. I always find smell induces nostalgia in me. There was a particular smell in Uguisudani, where I used to live, and today it had returned to Fuchu-shi.

I thought I’d cycle to Musashi-koganei for a coffee and a bit of study, to try and begin gearing up for the big test in a month. (A month!) But then I got out on my bike, the weather was beautiful (easily matching an English summer day), I had “Katamari on the Rocks” in my ears and I cycled past the baseball teams practicing and under the falling blossom petals and past the big bowl of Ajinomoto Station and thought life is beautiful, I’m going to cycle to Shinjuku again.

So I did. There’s not much you can say about Route 20 from Fuchu-shi to Shinjuku-ku. It’s got bike shops and family restaurants and bric-a-brac shops and PC depots and houses and more family restaurants. I made pretty good progress, reaching Meidaimae within an hour. As I got closer to Shinjuku, though, and as the NTT DoCoMo building loomed on the horizon like … uh … the Empire State Building looms over Brooklyn, the crowds on the pavement increased and I had to cross the road. Through the whole journey my chain came off seven times, seeing as it’s pretty old and rusty, I only have one gear, and that I tend to push my little old lady’s bike past its capabilities. In one case the chain came off the pedal gear, resulting in me having to grab my emergency screwdriver (thank god I had that with me), partially disassemble the chain case, and thread it back on.

Then I saw the cops. A group of three, obviously bored. Hey, what’s this? A gaijin on a bike! I had the misfortune to stop at a red light, so the three of them come bumbling over.

Cop 1: “<A bike.>”
Cop 2: “<A bike!>”
Me (removing earphones): “Huh?”
Cop 3: “<The bike.>”
Me: “<The bike…?>”
Cop 1: “<Whose bike is this?>”
Me: “<My university’s bike.>”
Cop 2 (into radio): “<Registration six-three-four-eight-nine-seven-zero…>”
Cop 3: “<What university?>”
Me: “<Tokyo Gaidai.>”
Cop 2: “<…four-four-three-one-seven-one…>”
Cop 1: “<Oh, Tokyo Gaikokugo Daigaku? Ah, it says on the bike, here.>”
Cop 3: “<Oh, Tokyo Gaidai.>”
Cop 2: “<…nine-six-five-six-eight…>
Me (exasperated, pulling out wallet): “<Here’s the bike registration and my student card.>”
Cop 1: “<Oh, I see.>”
Cop 1 (apparently losing his mind): “<Say, what country’re you from?>”
Me: “<Ah, England.>”
Cop 1: “<Oh, England.>”
Cop 2: <”…eight-four-two-one-six, over.”>
Cop 3: (not at all sorry) “<Sorry for interrupting you.>”
Me: “<Everything’s alright, then?>”
Me: “<Turns out that just because I’ve got a beard and no epicanthic folds and I’m on a bike, I’m not necessarily a criminal?>”
Cop 1: “<Yes, excuse us.>”
Me: “<No problem! Excuse me!>”

At least it’s funny in hindsight. And I didn’t show my gaikokujin card, though I did kind of fold by showing them my student ID. I just wish I’d had the guts to ask, “Why have you stopped me?” because the answer is “Because we think this bike is stolen,” and … Yeah, racial profiling in action. I have never seen a Japanese person on a bike being stopped.

Anyway, these things happen. No sense in letting it get you down…