Tokyo, Japan

23-27 September, 1992

"Do you have a valid passport?" my boss was asking over the phone. I was at home, on a Sunday night, and the owner of the company I was working for, Trojan Research & Development (now defunct) was asking if I could be ready to go to Japan on Tuesday morning. He had been planning to go himself, but matters more urgent intervened (relating to the soon-to-be-defunct status of the company), and he was looking for an employee to go in his place on extremely short notice. Knowing as he did that I'd always wanted to see Japan, I was his first call.

The reason for the trip was a service call. We had previously shipped to Polaroid Japan about three hundred or so modified instant cameras for use in close-up medical photography. Maybe something's different about Polaroid film in Japan, because soon after they had arrived, the client called to tell us that the exposure calibrations were off and would need to be adjusted. It became apparent that the most economical way to fix this problem would be to send two people to Japan to perform the repairs on-site, rather than ship the cameras back to our Van Nuys, California production facility.

So I was off to Japan to fix cameras. Polaroid set us up in a room where we could work. My supervisor, Dave, and I made short work of the necessary modifications as we were both eager to get out and see the sights. The work was simple enough: open the box, remove camera from case, pop faceplate off of camera, twiddle exposure adjustment doo-dad with micro screwdriver, take test photo, return faceplate to camera, camera to case, case to box. Repeat three hundred times. After a few hours, we streamlined the operation into a very short assembly line, and we finished in less than two days, leaving us two more days to explore the city.

Our hosts, being good Japanese sararimen, took us out for lunch. Our first lunch in Tokyo was, of course, sushi at a local bar near the office. Brightly lit, with lots of stainless steel and formica, this sushi bar was very similar in appearance and ambience to a Manhattan deli. Our hosts were clearly regulars, and after introducing us to the chef and his assistants, along with lots of bowing, we were seated at the bar. We were not given the opportunity to order, rather we were presented with platters created especially for us by the chef. I was not a sushi neophyte, but a lesson in Japanese hospitality awaited me. My platter contained uni, sea urchin, which I find revolting. The chef noticed that I was working my way around the little seaweed-wrapped blobs of fish snot, and made inquiries of our hosts as to why. After translation, I replied that I was merely saving "the best for last." My well-intentioned fib was rewarded by the chef when two more pieces of uni landed on my platter. It's true that one lie begets others: After bolting four pieces of uni, smiling throughout, I felt compelled to finish with a bow and a "domo arigato." A little Sapporo beer washed the taste out of my mouth, but the lesson remains indelible.

September is a great time to visit Japan. The summer's heat and humidity have dissipated, but the evenings are still light and warm. We used our first evening to visit the Imperial Palace, which is right in the heart of downtown. It is still the official residence of the imperial family, so none of the interior was available to us, but the gardens, walls and bridges were impressive and made for a pleasant walk. The palace is an enclave of serenity within the chaos of the city.

Two days are not enough to explore a city like Tokyo, not by a long shot. Fortunately, the extensive, clean and highly efficient Tokyo subway system meant that not too much of our time would be wasted in transit from sight to sight. The stations have abundant signs and maps, and even though the system map bears a strong resemblance to a bowl of multi-colored udon, it would still be difficult to get lost. We navigated the subway with ease without being able to read a word of Japanese.

The stations also have an abundance of people within them. The stories you've heard are true: there are employees of the Tokyo Metro who use their white-gloved hands to pack people onto the trains at rush hour. They are so effective at it that it doesn't matter if you're near a handhold or not; it's not possible to fall over. Outside of rush hour, the system is a great way to move around the city, and it's (by Japanese standards) relatively inexpensive.

One of our evenings was spent in the Rappongi district, which turned out to be the kind of place that local residents would recommend to visitors with statements like "I don't go there myself, but you'll like it," in the assumption that all anyone wants to see after spending too many hours on a plane are the local iterations of McDonald's and Hard Rock Cafe. The district was lively, and it was easy to strike up a conversation in English with young American/Australian/British expatriates desperate for it, but it was not Japanese, and not what we'd come to see.

So from there we continued to explore, winding up at one point inside an x-rated theater. (My excuse is that I couldn't read the signs. My next excuse is that it was Dave's idea.) Dimly illuminated with red light, it was difficult to tell exactly what was happening on the stage, but when it was over, the man stood up, clapped a hand over his privates, saluted with the other hand, and backed hurriedly off the stage, leaving his partner sprawled on the floor, presumably awaiting the next "performance."

Dave had a friend in Tokyo (whose name escapes me) who was available to meet us for dinner one night. Regrettably, we met her at, of all places, an Italian restaurant. There seems to be a hesitation among the Japanese to present their culture to foreigners and to try and steer them toward more familiar choices. Hence Rappongi and its chain establishments, and now this Italian restaurant. Are they trying to protect us from their culture, or it from us? Are they embarrassed by something?