Destination: Tokyo

Hi there. Guess who’s alive and well? I know it’s been a few days, so here’s a quick introduction to what happened to us upon our arrival in Tokyo:

1. We found out our apartment was unavailable due to a burst pipe during a typhoon.
2. We got a replacement apartment about a half-hour train ride from the city, nowhere near our original location.
3. I left my iPhone on the airport bus.

You’ve never really enjoyed jetlag until you’ve done it like this.

It all started off innocently enough. We bought wi-fi on the plane, and somewhere over the Arctic Circle, we found out that the apartment we had rented was not going to be available. I guess there really are typhoons in Asia, and one hit Tokyo just before we arrived, wiping out the apartment’s plumbing. So be it. Luckily our “landlady” Elizabeth let us use her own apartment rather than us getting hosed landing in Tokyo with nowhere to go. This honestly was very nice of her.

Her assistant Josephine met us in Shibuya to take us to the new apartment, which we were told was 20 minutes away. By train. We’d just come off a 14 hour flight and a 90-minute bus ride, so lugging our 40 pound bags around a crowded major metropolitan area wasn’t something we wanted to do for long. But we did. We walked several blocks, through some crowds, up some stairs, down some stairs, barged into a few students, up an elevator – oops, wrong floor – down an elevator, through a tunnel…WAIT…where’s my iPhone? WHERE DID I PUT MY IPHONE??!!

I left my iPhone on the airport bus. Holden Caulfield left the goddamn foils on the subway. I left my goddamn iPhone on the airport bus. And I simply gave up on it. It was gone.

Josephine called the airport bus company. Closed for the night. Josephine called Elizabeth. Elizabeth would call the bus company in the morning. So we kept on our long march, got on a subway to a commuter line, and a half-hour later, arrived well into the suburbs, exhausted, in the middle of nowhere, while somewhere on the highway back to Narita Airport, my brand new iPhone sat on a very clean, well-maintained plush Japanese bus seat. I imagined it looking out the window through one of its two iSight cameras, staring at the passing neon billboards, a small electronic tear rolling down its sleek, black, crystal 4-inch retina display as “Everybody’s Talkin’ at Me” played in the background. Exhausted, dejected, frustrated, and with little else to do, Amy and I went to bed.

Early the next day, with little sleep from jetlag, we left the suburban apartment and took an hour train/subway ride to the Tsukiji fish market. It’s awesome. Every kind of seafood, guys carving up massive frozen tuna, big pots of shrimp, uni, scallops…fantastic. It’s where you famously wait in line at the local stands to have the freshest sushi you’ll ever eat – for breakfast. So we got in line and waited. And waited…

And while we waited, Amy checked her email. AND…the bus company found my phone! Only in Japan! I assure you, once we were finally seated, that sushi breakfast was the most delicious, satisfying meal I’ve had in a while. I savored every taste of uni and hamachi as visions of iMessaging and Facebook apps danced through my head.

We got the iPhone back later that day. We moved to a centrally-located tourist hotel the next day. We got over our jetlag, and we went to the sumo finals (thanks to Elizabeth). We’ve checked out great neighborhood shops and restaurants, toured temples and shrines, and met really nice people. For example:

– Elizabeth, who helped us get the phone back, and got us the Sumo tickets.
– The waitress who patiently translated an entire menu into English for us.
– The woman I spilled my beer on at Sumo, who thanked me for giving her the opportunity to practice her English (this has got to be the first time someone thanked me for spilling beer on them).
– The restaurant owner who ran out to give us postcards of his place after we’d already dined, paid, and left.
– The metro employee who calmly explained that we’d transferred to a different line, and owed more money – but just pay when you get off at the station.
– The cook who spoke no English, yet offered us options through hand gestures, and made us the greatest potato salad I’ve ever eaten.

So after a rough start, it’s all been great. We’ll get a little more in-depth in upcoming posts, but that’s a good recap of how things kicked off, and how you roll with the punches. It’s all going well. We’re fine, Mom. Actually, we’re pretty great.