I am taking my mom to Japan for a few days. Nick is already over there somewhere in Hiroshima, or Sapporo, or with the ice sculptures, so we’ll meet him during his last few days in Tokyo. I am a supervisor now. I have a big girl job. It is a big deal that I get the days off. Only other supervisors can cover my days. Or the boss boss. Either way, I have the coverage. Mom and I are bound for Japan on a Monday in February.
I see a packing method on Instagram. Pick out three tops, three bottoms, and three accessories, like a jacket or sweater. Lay them in a 3×3 square. In theory, I’ll have an outfit in every direction. So my top right shirt will go with the top middle pants and top left sweater. Mixing and matching nine articles, makes for eight different outfits. Nevermind that I’m only going for four days.
The flight to Japan has plenty of seats. I’m not particularly worried about our standby status this time. I’m already looking up cigarettes to buy in Japan, while we wait in Dallas for our flight to begin boarding.
Mom and I get a seat in main cabin, but a row to ourselves. We book a hotel while the flight is boarding. There are so many empty seats that I sneak to an empty row in front of me. It is the bulk head and the arm rests are immobile. I doze off, only to be woken up by a flight attendant who tells me I can’t sit there. She tells me, “People pay a lot of money to sit in these seats.”
What I hear is, I can’t afford these seats. I can’t take up this space, where I can’t afford to be, because even though the people who can afford these seats aren’t on this plane, I must not disturb some cosmic scale. I can’t afford it, she can tell by looking at me, so I need to leave.
There is a chance she knew I was an employee, but my guess is, she doesn’t even pay attention anymore. She’s just a little mile high social status officer. Sit where you pay for. Lie in the bed you made. Eat shit and die.
Anyway, I cover my face with my main-cabin excuse for a blanket and cry about the truth of it all. I give everything I have to this company and I am still too poor to be in the premium seating. I mean, it’s true, if I wasn’t an employee, I’d be paying basic economy and I’d get a middle seat. I’d spend 11 hours asking some poor person to get out of their aisle seat every two hours. Even as an employee, [a supervisor, mind you!] I don’t get paid enough to purchase a preferred seat on an international flight. And it shows, doesn’t it? Even in the dark with the roar of Boeing engines in the background. I’d pay for a soft spot on the luggage in the aft bin, if it was cheap enough.
I continue to cry with the blanket draped over my head, like a ghost trying to disappear into the shadows of my free employee seat. I should be grateful, I guess. I’m due for a good cry. This is the year of crying, I guess.
We arrive in Tokyo at night, in the rain. It was raining the last time I arrived here. And it always reminds me of Blade Runner. Glad that hasn’t changed. The hotel room is very small. Tucked into a quiet neighborhood, a long stretch of balcony connected room doors, like a motel in the states. I can see the Skytree in the distance. There are robes, slippers, and a few amenities. We each get a narrow, hard bed, with a single flat pillow. This is a $45/night room. Everything could be slightly better if we were interested in splurging just $25 more per night but why splurge on a hotel in Tokyo when you can save $25 for, idk, a plain fettuccine alfredo back home. People pay good money for soft beds in Japan.
I use the Japanese toilet which brings me joy. When I tuck myself in, I realize I brought the wrong charging block. My charger cord goes from lighting to USB, the old one. This block is a USB C. I’ve had the same iPhone SE since 2020. Never once have I had a lighting to USB C cord. But we are in Japan! And mom is tired but excited. She already wants to know the plan for tomorrow. I tell her it’s a surprise. She’ll love it. I hope my phone makes it until the morning.
At this point, I’m not sure I even want to see my fortune.
We borrow umbrellas from the hotel for our walk in the gentle rain. I take her to Denny’s because she’s a sensitive and picky eater, and I truly loved my experience last time. This Denny’s is in the Asakusa area, its large gate is visible from the window by our table. I get a big breakfast, like the Waffle House All Star breakfast equivalent, and eat every bit of it. I savor my little espresso, and go back for a second.
Asakusa is practically empty. We pass through the Kaminarimon gate, with the god of thunder on the left and the god of wind on the right. Sensoji temple is majestic ahead of us, through our see-through umbrellas. The little shops are closed but I plan to bring mom back at night when it is packed with people.
We photograph pagodas and koi fish. I show mom how to read her fortune with sticks. We haven’t exchanged our money yet so I pay for the fortune with US coins. Does this negate the fortune? Bah, I can’t be bothered with this concern. Mom has to experience the joys of a Japanese fortune translated to English. I read it to her and we laugh at the broken grammar. It must be a misfortune, because we do not keep it. Its bad luck and irony are lost in our memory.
I am here in Tokyo, because my mom wants go to some exotic place and this is about as exotic as she can fathom. So I’m here to show her what I know, which isn’t much, but I’m also here to do something I don’t normally do. I’m going to be a consumer. I am buying the things I didn’t allow myself to get last time.
Firstly, I want finger nail clippers. Strange, yes, but reddit is filled with big fans.
I want to go to a Japanese ‘dollar store’. There is one around the corner from the temple. On the second floor, I buy markers that change colors. Mt. Fuji magnets and chopstick sets for my night shift co-workers. I buy a waterproof notepad for reasons unknown, and nail clippers, chap-stick, and a $1 phone cord that works with my charging block and power bank. Finally, I can charge my phone. Crisis averted.
I want to go to a Studio Ghibli store. I watched Spirited Away, Princess Mononoke, and My Neighbor Totoro before I came and want cute merchandise to admire. When we walk in, there is a giant Totoro lying on his back just like in the movie, staring at the sky. I find the cutest ghibli themed washcloths and hand towels. I buy a ring from Kiki’s delivery service, even though I haven’t seen it yet. I buy soot sprites for my keys, my home windows, and in a little vial like I can make spells with them. Plus, Totoro stamps, and washi tape, for my lofty aspiration of junk journaling when I return home.
Nick is ready to meet us at the Lucky Cat shrine. We drop off my things at the hotel and get on a train. The train is delayed, [shocked? yeah me too] but only by 15 minutes or so. We find Nick eventually, a feat I am never not impressed with in a foreign country.
The shrine is tucked away in a neighborhood with small modern homes and parks for walking dogs. Lucky Cats of various sizes fill the shelves and walkways behind the temple. These small and large sculptures are purchased on site and left by visitors. For luck, I assume. I buy a small Lucky Cat for something like $2. It has a fortune in the bottom, but I choose to take it home with me, instead. Something about two fortunes in one day feels greedy. I can’t just keep asking for a better one, can I?
I really want to return to a rotating sushi place, firstly so mom can experience it, but also because it has my heart. We place our order. Nick and I drink beer and pick out sushi. Mom gets ramen. Nick plays some sort of game and wins a mofusand cat sticker. It’s so adorable! This little cat is dressed in a shark costume, rolled on its back showing its shark belly.
We go with Nick to Shinjuku to see Godzilla, which I didn’t get a chance to see last time. It’s already dark even though it’s only 6 pm but the monster is as glorious as I hoped, peeking over skyscrapers at us to say…rwwwrraar. Nick shows us around this place that I am unfamiliar with, navigates the crowds, points out alley ways Americans aren’t allowed, and takes us into arcades. We spot the Mofusand cat shark in a claw machine and I am obsessed. I put money into the machine multiple times but do not with the small stuffie. Nick shows us the limited editions of Four Roses bourbon, the black label and super premium. These are made in Kentucky, and sent exclusively to Japan. Nick tells us he actually prefers the black label which is about $45 cheaper. I’m tempted but don’t like the idea of checking a bag.
I see a beautiful sewer cover on the busy Shinjuku streets. Mom’s hip is getting sore and I can tell she wants to go back to the hotel. I tell her I will take her back and meet Nick later, but once I make it to the hotel, I change my mind. I decide I am sleepier than I thought.
So many sweet potatoes come into our lives.
The next morning, I take mom to a multi-level store called Don Quijote for cheap but good earbuds, a better phone charging cord, stickers for journaling, a stuffed mofusand cat shark, and cigarettes for Josh. We eat breakfast at a darling little coffee shop called Komeda’s Coffee at table 42. The beautiful mugs and strange menu distract us from a very obvious and specific ordering procedure. But the service is kind, they accommodate us idiots, and the American adjacent food is good. We meet Nick at Ueno Station and head to Kawagoe.
If you aren’t familiar with Kawagoe, I didn’t know about it either. Nick wants to go because it’s nicknamed ‘little edo.’ As in, its buildings resemble the Edo period. It is only a thirty minute train ride from Tokyo, which is something new for both Mom and I.
The town is picturesque and clean. I spot an ornate sewer cover with the Kawagoe bell tower and familiar streets of ‘little edo’ carved into it. We spot the Kumano-jinja Shrine. There are giant gold and black birds greeting us, and then many smaller ornament sized ones for sale. They, like the lucky cats, have a sticker on the bottom, concealing the fortune tucked inside it like a pinata. Most take their fortunes and hang their birds at the shrine. But I am me, and I want to lay in the bed of my first fortune, so I will take it home and save the fortune for a rainy day.
At the temple, there is a path made of stones meant to massage the soles of your feet. Nick and I keep our socks on and learn just how painful this path is designed to be. It’s giving shiatsu and acupressure. Torture for sweet release. Mom is already moving slow, her hip is bothering her, so she refrains from walking the path of pain. She laughs at us instead.
We keep exploring little edo. We see the black chunky buildings with the black tiled roofs. We pass shops bustling with Japanese tourists. We arrive at the warehouse district and are greeted by the famous bell tower. Nick signs up to make chopsticks across from an edo-style Starbucks.
I see another beautiful sewer cover, this one with a simplified floral pattern. I see another, with tassels and dots. Now I’m walking and looking at my feet like a goober. I go into another ghibli store, and I do not buy a Totoro print rolling carry on. Gosh do I regret this. Mom and I find a coffee shop that is not Starbucks. I buy an umbrella because reddit tells me they are made better here. When we meet back up with Nick to admire his red wood chopsticks, we dine on sweet potato chips and sweet potato ice cream.
We make a trek to another temple and stop at a 7-eleven on the way. I see more fingernail clippers and square glue sticks for stationary! I can hardly contain my excitement.
The temple has a big, big bowl of paper mache fish with fortunes in their bellies. Fishing poles allow us to fish out our fortune. Red is for general fortunes and pink is for romance. I chose red. Keep the fortune for a rainy day. There is also a smaller bowl with sweet potato shaped fortunes. Also fished out with fishing poles. If you’re keeping track, I have four fortunes for some future period in my life when I’ll really, really need them.
I see another sewer cover! This a circular design with arrows to all directions, like a Mandela and a compass had a baby. There is definitely something going on with sewer covers, and I must get to the bottom of it.
Nick spots a vending machine that sells sweet potatoes. He gets one, of course. Says he will save it for later, like a fortune he is not ready to eat. We find a restaurant called Mrs. Hamburger where they sell cups of fries, with a tower of mini burgers skewered through it. Its presentation is what brings us in, but the burgers and fries end up being so good. I only learn later they are 100% Wagyu beef.
I see another sewer cover and can’t contain myself anymore. I dance in the Kawagoe street, to my mother’s delight. This one is a sweet potato shaped fire fighter holding the water hose of a fire truck. On the way out of town we find vending machines that I am pretty sure are magnets of THE sewer covers. I recognize the little edo cityscape. I put nearly $5 in. And even though I do not get a sewer cover design that I recognize, I am thrilled to have it to remind me to research this sewer cover business later.
The 7-eleven glue stick reminds me I wanted to find a stationary store, because the Japanese have figured out stationary technology. Nick and Mom follow me to Shibuya where we show her the busiest road crossing in the busiest city in the world. We find a stationary shop and I buy notebooks, washi tape, stickers, and tape rollers. We shop at an Uniqlo because in Japan they are cheap and not that crowded. I buy some trendy barrel pants and a jean jacket. Feel very Japanese, and by that I mean, cool.
We call it a night. Mom and I stop at a Lawson’s before we make it back to the hotel. We get some road beers based on the design on the can, and some snacks based on flavors we’ve never seen but are willing to try. I research man hole covers in the hotel room as I drink a Belgian white ale with a curious cat on it and find that there is an entire cult of man-hole cover enthusiasts, like with associations and societies. And they come to Japan.
In the 80’s, a local official at the Ministry of Construction sought to encourage local Japanese provinces to update their out of date sewage and sanitary systems.
Despite the high costs, this official got them excited for new sewers by proposing each city have their own design for the man-holes. This led to a national competition, and now all of these beautiful designs littered around the city like Toynbee Tiles.
Somehow in a Tokyo Sheraton, I decide Shanghai.
It is our last day in Japan when we wake up. We won’t fly out until late in the day though, so we have practically all day. Nick is going to Pokemon World and may or may not stay another day. Mom and I consider the Skytree and Narita, but since we are having breakfast with her brother and nephew at the Disney Sheraton, we decide on Disney at Sea instead. This is twice I have spent my last day in Japan at Disney.
It is fun to see familiar faces half way across the world. My uncle has brought his son here for his birthday. We fill our bellies as we catch up. We get permission to store our luggage at the Sheraton. We buy our tickets for Disney at Sea. My uncle is asking me where I’m headed to next. I mention Seoul and he tells me it’s an awful lot like Tokyo, if that’s what I like. I tell him, I’d like to try something a little different. I mention Shanghai and Beijing.
“Oh, if you can go to either, you should.” He tells me in his calm and collected way.
I ask my normal questions, is it safe? For a woman? For a solo traveler? He assures me it is all of those things. Plus, it has more variety, and so, so, so much to see.
Sold, I think. Guess I’m gonna try China next.
Mom is moving slower than ever. We hobble to the train that encircles the Disney compound only to find out we need cash to take the train. We hobble back to the Sheraton, find an ATM, and hobble to the train once more. By the way, everything is in Japanese. This is not an American safe-haven. Nothing about being at Disney makes this easy to navigate. I mean there is English occasionally, and sometimes we can speak English, but all the Disney songs? They are in Japanese. All the signs? Japanese first.
Disney at Sea is so beautiful and big and everyone is smiling, in that way that I acknowledge now, that it is not only one’s job to work here, but be happy about it. We take a gondola ride through the park to get our bearings. Even though the tour is in Japanese, we can deduce the park is designed like a world tour. There is a Mediterranean Harbor, an American Waterfront, a Lost River Delta, and an Arabian Coast, among other themes. I find a smoking section behind a “New York Deli” so it’s not like, entirely inaccurate.
We walk aboard a pirate ship docked at the Mysterious Island. We peek at an anamorphic painting, only visible through a specific lens. We pick a ride that is a short wait, called 20,000 leagues under the sea. We sit in tiny submarine pods and look out portholes at fantastical scenes. We go under the sea at the Mermaid Lagoon. And imagine flying on a magic carpet ride through the narrow Arabian alleyways.
We are content roaming freely, hobbling around. Mom’s leg is really hurting but we are enjoying taking it slow through these well-built worlds. We buy turkey legs, like at the renaissance festivals back home, eat them while standing. When it is getting close to time to head to the airport, we gather our luggage from the Sheraton and take the same bus to Narita that I took last year, this time though we have tickets and our where-with-all.
At the Narita airport we are granted boarding passes and access through security, which is a bonus because last year I wasn’t able to pass through security until boarding had begun! And with mom’s hip, we were definitely not running to any gates. I read a map and think I find a smoking lounge but there is nothing there. So I wait with mom at the gate. Knowing there are plenty of seats, I still get nervous, because you never know what shenanigans an airline can pull. We get our seats in main cabin. It’s another row to ourselves again but not the seats people pay good money for.
We are exhausted when we arrive in Dallas, there is only one seat on the first flight home. I make the questionable [and maybe even selfish] choice to leave her in Dallas and take the first seat home. There is another flight with more seats in an hour. I make it home around 7 pm eastern time. Now, everyone calm down. I am home for about an hour before I turn around and come back to the airport when she arrives. Josh and I pick her up. I try to convince her to stay the night at our place but she insists on heading home to her own bed. It is only 8pm.
Except, when I am finally able to lay down in my own bed, I realize that it has been Friday the 13th, all day. The day began in Tokyo. Then mom and I got on a plane at 6:00pm. The international flight lasted 11 hours. When we landed in Dallas at 2 pm it was still Friday the 13th. By the time everyone makes it home to their bed, and the clock strikes midnight on Valentines day, it has been a 38 hour long Friday the 13th.
So we survived the longest unluckiest day. I assume, because I packed all my fortunes for safe keeping. Perhaps they carried me all the way home. The ceramic black bird, and white lucky cat, and paper mache red fish, and purple sweet potato. Navigating me through buses, and planes, and putting myself first in the Dallas airport.
The fingernail clippers are a big hit back home. I attach one of my ghibli key chains to it and designate its home by the front door. This way we will always have very effective, and nice fingernail clippers. I let Josh pick a fortune, any but the lucky cat. I have all my maps, receipts, tickets, and paper packaging for junk journaling. I am now a trash panda tourist. Now I know my place. And it’s not in the premium seating.
P.S. My mom came home with shingles. Not sure what that means, except, gosh what a hoss cat. She walked with a cane for months trying to figure what the connection was between the shingles and nerve pain giving her shooting pains from her hip to her leg. Anyway, I guess I’m really glad I got to take her to Japan.We saw, we hobbled, and we stored our fortunes like little squirrels preparing for a hard winter.