So I found myself for the first time in Tokyo…The Closest that I’ll ever get to a real live cartoon, where animation is brought to life on it’s streets through it’s art, it’s architecture and the style of modern youth and their game playing parents.  Manga hairstyles, pink platform shoes, huge Elton John sunglasses, mini skirts and leg warmers, thigh high boots at sky high 38º,

think ‘Hello Kitty’ meets ‘Ziggy Stardust’ think baby doll, think rock ‘n’ roll, “I think I’m turning Japanese”, think ‘Japan’.  Think colourful shapes for colourful food, think colourful thoughts BUT !! Don’t think too much, just keep on moving…Get carried away in Tokyo, keep moving through the neon lights, carried along by the hoards, move through narrow streets, up and down and through the malls as each street shop and shopping center store pounds it’s music, it’s manic rhythm and with each step comes a different tone, a tune to keep up with it’s hectic pace.  Move through the music, through the mosaic of the senses, through taste and sight and sound and a word if I may in your ear, a word of warning, move quickly passed the…just hold your nose!  You see, it’s not just the dodgy sewage system and pungently strong smelling food, Tokyo’s impeccable streets are trashed each evening as shops bring out their rubbish and line the pavements with exquisite leftovers extremely popular with the local rats which can be seen screeching their approval, trapped beneath throw-over nets which stop the rubbish overflow…

I was sat in a very basic Japanese dining bar when I became aware that a simple smile was not sufficient to ward off the staring eyes of an elderly gentleman at the next table.  I sat through my meal and aided by a more that generous helping of ‘saki’, became immune to his penetrating stare.  Some time later, on finishing his meal the gentleman approached me, he held out his hand to shake and I held his eyes in mine for what seemed to be an unnatural period of time for a simple greeting.  When done shaking my hand, he moved his own to the sleeve of my jacket and tenderly took hold, tears lining his eyes as he proclaimed that I was British. His son quickly intervened apologetically dragging his father’s hand away from my fashionable at the time Cammo’ shirt before stepping out into the vast Tokyo night, lost in a memory. 

I strongly believe that the gentleman would have been involved in the second world war, a theory not upheld by my three colleagues who maintain that he was in awe of my taking three ‘attractive’ female companions out to dinner! 

The trip back from Tokyo would mark twenty eight hours before I’d get any sleep, it was a crazy journey, and not one to be caught napping.  Plane to plane, terminal to terminal via train, coach or both, it was difficult to keep pace but we finally arrived at Santiago de Compostella, and I’m not sure if the time difference had anything to do with it but we arrived a full day and a half before our luggage!

monsito 2006